Their Promise
by Waifine
Summary: "When he looked at her, Kisara knew for certain. His scowl was just as hollow as her smile. Inside, they were both screaming in pain." The untold story of Kisara, from Atlantis, to Ancient Egypt, to Medieval Paris, to its final conclusion in Modern Japan.
1. I Promise

"**I Promise"**  
Noah's Arc

_Seto Kaiba: 12 years old_

_Kisara: 9 years old_

**…**

Seto hovered outside the gate, next to the limousine, waiting for Gozaburo. How long was the bastard going to take, anyway? Seto looked up at the orphanage – one out of many – which Gozaburo made a show of going to and supporting. The CEO of the biggest war company in the country: a man who dearly adores the orphans of this world. The thought alone made Seto's upper lip curl up into a sneer at the irony. He caught himself though, and righted his face. Not only would he get it from the old bastard if he didn't 'present' himself accordingly, but also Mokuba didn't like it when he sneered. He had never sneered before Gozaburo. However, Seto was finding it harder and harder to oblige his little brother in _not_ sneering. He was twelve now, two years Gozaburo Kaiba's adopted son. Two years. How had he survived? _With a sneer on my face,_ he thought wryly.

He never went into the orphanages, soup kitchens or any of the places Gozaburo visited and donated money two. He hated seeing the other orphans. He hated the way they looked at him with envy, as if he was _born_ into this, as if he was so much _luckier._ As if they couldn't have done it themselves! Where he was he got by his own strength. If they envied him, they were _weak._ And also… also… he hated how wrong they were… how wrong _he_ had been. Some 'better life' he had found for himself and his little brother. Ha. Still, he could push through. He _always_ pushed through.

Seto swallowed and then winced with the pain. He gingerly raised a hand to his throat, wrapped as it was by the gold embroidered turtleneck jacket. It was his step-father's design, this uniform. It was compact… and it hid the marks where the butler's, Hobson's, whip and dog-collar had rubbed Seto's skin raw. "Tish," he sneered. How long was he going to have to stand here?

"Hey."

Not having been focusing on anything in particular, his eyes narrowed onto a figure on the opposite side of the gate. She looked much younger than he did at first glance, slight and delicate as she was. At second glance though, he wasn't so sure. Those huge blue eyes, even lighter and clearer than his, offset any definite age. Her skin was much paler than anyone else's he had ever seen, so that the blue veins traveling up her arms were visible as she clutched onto the bars that rose vertically to make the gate. She was wearing a very loose smock. He would always remember that later – though kill him if he could remember the color – because, on her chest, all the veins coursed through that pale skin to where her heart was, and he was fascinated. Loose as it was and pale as she was, the scratches and bruises came up starkly on her skin. There were many of them. She had white hair. It seemed to glimmer blue, but maybe that was just his imagination. He appraised her in silence for a good while before answering. She was like a little imp from one of his little brother's fairly tale books. He swallowed, winced, and spoke. "Yes?" he asked curtly.

"Are you alright?"

Be blinked at her. "Excuse me?"

"When you swallowed… were you alright? If you have a sore throat I can make you some tea. I just learned how to do it." She smiled at him, stretching a split in her lower lip.

He blinked at her a few more times. _What?_ "My throat is none of your concern," he snapped. He was ashamed to think it, but he was a little nervous of the driver hearing him 'complaining' about his throat to anyone. What the driver knew, Gozaburo knew. And Gozaburo knew that to punish Seto all he had to do was aim for the heart – his little brother, Mokuba.

This girl, with her strange and beautiful features, was a load of trouble from word one. Blue. Pale. Blue. White. Tish, if Mokuba had been here he would have said she was like a human version of the Blue-Eyes White Dragon card he'd crayoned for Seto. Seto lived off that card. It what was what kept him going. It was the ultimate goal: to be a man worthy and independent enough to easily be considered the holder of a – no, all – Blue-Eyes.

Seto had expected this girl to flinch away and look hurt. That was what most children did when he snapped at them, Mokuba in particular. He had been snapping at him too often lately too. She however, just pulled in her lower lip and sucked on it, looking remorseful. Finally, she let it slip again, now glistening a little. "I'm sorry. I don't spend much time with people, so I don't really know what I'm allowed to ask." She blinked at nothing in particular for a moment before an idea came to her. "Can I say what _I_ think about you? And it's alright. I don't mind that it's not your business! So… would you be alright with it too?"

He wished that he had not drawn the allusion between her and the Blue-Eyes. It added a familiarity of nature onto her splendor of appearance that he didn't much like. Liked too well, rather. _Don't be stupid. Just look at her! The dragon is strong. She's brittle as a dry leaf. Blue-Eye's is colossal. She's petite. And most blatantly of all, she's a girl._ He shrugged. "Whatever. While you're at it you might as well throw in your name and age." Why was he doing this?

That smile got so wide that Seto actually began to worry that the split might open again and start bleeding. She pressed herself against the bars eagerly and in a rush she said, "My name's Kisara. I'm nine. And I saw you and thought you were beautiful because you look like you're doing what you're doing for someone, what with the way you keep straightening your face, and if I was that someone I'd be really happy to know you and as I'm not I'm a little jealous." She looked a little nervous, as if she was not used to saying what she thought out loud, but at the same time was time very happy that she did.

There was an impassive mask that Seto had and which he wore for his step-father's pleasure morning, noon and night. It had somehow now managed to slip eschew and was now dangling by his chin. That was the only explanation _he_ could think of for why his jaw should be hanging open as it was. Suddenly he was finding that he really would not have minded if the Blue-Eyes turned out to be female. When he came into his own he would have to make sure to ask Maximilian Pegasus about that.

"You're a whole three years younger than me? I… I thought…I mean, I wasn't sure so…" he was tongue tied. He tried to swallow. And winced.

"Are-?" Kisara opened her mouth but, upon remembering that it was none of his business, buttoned it shut again. They stood at each other in silence for a moment, on either side of the gate. If she was already nine there was little chance of her being adopted. Without a word, looking over his shoulder only once to see the driver immersed in some romance novel, he stepped closer to the gate, unbuttoning the top of his collar as he went. He angled his head up, so he didn't see her reaction to the red welts that coursed along this neck. He did, however, hear the gasp.

Before he could do a thing about it Kisara went on her tip toes, leaned her head through the bars, gently angled and tucked her face under his nick, and trailed her lips along his neck in little kisses. Again, he couldn't react, not even when she went back onto her own feet, her face slipping back to her side of the gate. Slowly he tilted his face forward again. _She just…_

"I'm sorry. Should I not have done that?"

He swallowed. He didn't feel anything. Just those gentle soft lips trying to make everything better… "It isn't normal," he answered hoarsely.

"Oh."

"It's fine though." He found himself gripping the bars of the gate now too, his face just above hers. "I mean, you're not really normal, and I think… when I saw you _I_ thought…" she had reached her hands back up to him and was carefully re-buttoning his collar, as if she knew better than he that if anyone found it unbuttoned he would be in terrible trouble. "I thought that…" what could he say? He suddenly wanted to say everything. Her hair. Her skin. Her eyes. He wanted to press his fingers where all those blue veins channeled off to the heart. "…you look like my favorite dragon."

… Damn.

Seto knew very little about girls. …That ought to be rephrased: He knew absolutely _nothing_ about girls. But even 'nothing' covered some ground and he knew that of all the complements one could pay a girl – while it was perfectly alright to talk about her hair, her skin, her eyes – saying that she looked like a dragon was never a good idea.

Sure enough, she started to cry.

"No. Hey, look. I didn't mean…" Why? Why was it that when he actually cared about a girl's reaction, rather than her swooning like the rest of the accursed female population, she burst into tears? WHY?

"I'm sorry," she spluttered againg. "I'm tired and a little worn out and it's just everything together, but no one's ever said that I _looked_ like their favorite anything. And," sniff, "and I really like you," sniff, "so I was really worried that you would _hate_ me. And looking like your favorite anything," she coughed and sneezed a little, wiping her nose on the back of her hand, "it makes me really happy." And she beamed up at him, her eyes now _shining_ with that blue luster. His knees were not going weak. He was Seto…Seto bloody Kaiba, and Seto bloody Kaiba's knees did not go weak. _Fine then… what's a synonym for weak?_

He swallowed and nervously let the corners of his mouth turn up, a gesture he had been suppressing for the better part of the conversation. "You keep smiling like that and your lip will break again." He paused, then, "Are you going to be alright? I mean… don't take this the wrong way, but it looks like you've been beat-"

"-I could say the same for you," she answered, still smiling.

He outright grinned. He couldn't help it. Here was someone who did not envy him for his misery. She just cared. Had just come over to ask if he was alright. How long had it been since someone had understood what he felt… and cared?

"My name's Seto." He swallowed hard again. It didn't hurt. "And I'm serious," he said, now leaning between the bars himself. His head was uncomfortably compressed a little as he went through. "You'll crack your lip again…" he was breathless before he even did it. He hadn't done anything this… this _human_ in years. It was nothing short of exhilarating. And then he felt that one rough spot on her otherwise smooth lips and wondered if this was what it had been like kissing his neck. Then, for a while, he stopped wondering altogether.

Voices floated towards them from a distance off. A door closed. Seto dragged himself away from her reluctantly, his hair jostling as he pulled his face back between the bars. He looked up then. There, standing in front of the orphanage, all clustered together in conversation, were the masters of the place and his own, personal, keeper. Gozaburo was standing with his back to the gate, distinguishable by his trademark brick red suit.

Seto's fists tightened on the bars. _Someday… someday soon I'll be free of you._

"Seto…"

His eyes snapped back to Kisara. Standing as she was, fragile and thin behind those bars, she looked like she was in a cage.

_A cage…?_ Why did that look so uncomfortably familiar. _I have to get her out,_ he thought suddenly. _I need to get her to a good family._ It seemed like the obvious and necessary thing to do. He felt as if… as if he had done it before.

"Listen to me," he glided one hand along the bar until it over lapped one of hers. "I can't break you out again, or run with you, like I did last time." What was he saying?! "But I'll get you out of here. I promise. You're going to get adopted. I'll protect you."

"Seto! While you may have a surplus of leisure time, I do not. Get in the car!" The master of the orphanage had unlocked a door the size of a man in this gate for cars, and Gozaburo had stepped through it. He was now heading to the limousine without a second glance at Kisara. Seto felt an inferno swelling inside him. _Leisure time!? What bloody leisure time you old miserable b-_ Kisara's other hand closed on top of his so that they made something of a pile on the bar.

"I'll protect you too, Seto."

He did not know how she had known that. After all, while he was the Kaiba Corp. heir with, as far as she knew, a thousand assets at his disposal, she was still behind the orphanage gate when she made her promise. However, Seto understood it was not that hard of a question when he actually sat down and thought about it, though that was only many years later. Kisara had _known_ that he did not have a thousand assets at his disposal. She had known that he was just as desperate as she was, and just as helpless. Seto realized that she must have seen in him that which he had always been trying to convince himself of: Though he was helpless now, someday he would overthrow Gozaburo and take his and his brother's lives into his own hands again. Kisara must have seen that resolve in him. It must have been the same as her own. And so… she made her promise. Their promise.

That very night Seto called the only man in this world whom he even remotely admired, if from a distance. A CEO of war machines and a CEO of children's' playing cards had little to talk about over dinner but still, that did not mean that Seto could not get in contact with the man easily.

He called Maximilian Pegasus himself.

Seto discovered something about the creator of Duel Monsters five minutes into their conversation as, in the dead of night, he sat up in bed, covers over his head, gingery feeling at the skin on his neck and holding the phone with his other hand. His discovery was this: He did not much like Maximilian Pegasus. At first the old fop just took it as a prank call, giggling at Seto's utterly serious request. It was only when he asked Seto to describe what Kisara looked like that his interest perked up. Seto had not much liked that either. _Now_ he was treating the topic with delicacy, as if the features he had described were of some importance. Had Pegasus too made the parallel between the Blue-Eyes White Dragon and Kisara? And if he had, why was it important? The two were not _actually_ related. Seto did not ask if the Blue-Eyes was female.

A month later Seto Kaiba caught a glimpse of the newly adopted Kisara Pegasus on the front page of _The Domino Times._

They saw nothing of each other from then on. Kaiba Corp. was for war machines. Industrial Illusions was for Duel Monsters. After Kaiba usurped Gozaburo's position he still did not make an effort to see her. Somehow he felt that, in the struggle, he had lost something of that 'beautiful' quality Kisara had first admired him for and, in his own turn, she never _had_ come and saved him from his sorrows.

Then Pegasus kidnapped Mokuba and usurped his company.

…

**Illustration of the kisses exchanged in this chapter can be found on my Profile Page. **


	2. That First Cage & That First Promise

**That First Cage & That First Promise**

Memory Arc

_Seto: 15 years old_

_Kisara: 12 years old_

…

Seto reigned in his horse, his eyes fixed on a pool of light spilling over a distant sand dune. _What on Earth?_ He could not think of any caravan routs that went this way. He had first headed for that pool of light thinking that it was his village. Now, however, looking northwest of this dune, he could see the fainter pool of light which _was_ his village, and where his mother was even now waiting for him.

He reached back a hand idly and felt for the sacks of wheat his horse was carrying. It was dark already… his mother would be worried… His eyes slid back to that closer pool of light. _It's on the way,_ he thought, kicking into his horse to continue in that direction he had first been heading. Might as well have some fun while he was at it. Seto kicked his heals into the horse's sides, spurring her forward. He loved the speed. A ravine was up ahead. He smirked into the darkness, rising a little in his saddle. With a muffled 'ha' he threw himself, and the horse over it.

Seto closed his eyes and pressed himself against his ride's neck, taking in the sensation. For a moment… just a moment… it was like flying. And then, invariably, her hooves hit the ground, and they cantered on.

After a short ride he halted on a dune just short of the pool of light. It _was _a caravan, even if it _was not_ a normal rout. Albeit, a very short caravan of one… two… three wagons, but still a caravan.

Seto held his horse steady as she pawed the ground. The sand slipped out from under her a little. Luckily that pool of light he had spotted, while large enough to be seen from a distance, was more of a puddle than a pool. It was coming from a campfire, as he'd suspected. And there were the traders.

_A waste of my time after all,_ he thought, turning his horse around. It would be better if they did not spot him, hovering over them as he was. At best they might take away his wheat and horse. At worst, they might throw _him_ in one of those cages. At the thought his eyes slid back to the wagons casually… and froze.

Apart from the campfire there was one other light spot against the black sand. _Go,_ a voice in his mind told him to kick his horse into action and be off. _Go. It's none of your business. You're not a thief. Go._

Oh, he was going. He was off his horse, sliding down the far side of the sand dune, circling around it, and crouching behind one of the other two wagons before it fully dawned on him that he was going the wrong direction. _I must be mad,_ he thought distractedly, digging his fingers into the wooden framework of the wagon and his heals into the sand. Some sand pushed up against his bare foot. It was cold already.

The desert was like that – scorching hot by noon and chilling by nightfall. Now that he was not on horseback the cold was beginning to seep in up through his feet. If that was the case_… she must be freezing,_ he thought, his eyes locked on that blotch, almost offensive, against the otherwise smooth darkness.

There was a whoop of laughter from the campfire that almost made Seto's heart lunging up though his throat. Cold as it was, he was not simply shivering because of the night air. _I am about to steal from slavers. From a whole bushel of slavers. …I must be mad,_ he thought again, his knees quivering a little. His fingers tightened on the woodwork.

Every footstep seemed to take an age, and every quiet 'pad' through the sand seemed much, much too audible. As he came closer to the wagon, however, his mind drifted from the danger posed by the slavers and to the appearance of this strange, strange girl, for she was a girl. She looked nothing like any girl he had ever seen in the village and Ra knew there were enough of them there following him around – fifteen years old, they said, it was time for him to settle down. Thank you, no – but she was certainly a girl…

She had a mop of white hair atop her head. Now that he was close enough he could see her too-pale form etched out in the darkness. She was shivering violently. _Bastards._ From where he crouched he could catch snatches of their conversation. "Haha! We were really lucky with that one." "Features like that… I've never seen anything like it. She'll fetch a good price." "It's a good thing we fished her out of the water when we did!" "Oy, you recon she's still a virgin?" "Only one way to find out!" "Settle down you two. No damaging the merchandise."

The wood of the wagon gave a very quiet creek under Seto's fingers. He hadn't realized that he had tightened his grip. Damn. Maybe he should come back when they were all asleep. Though, judging from those canteens he could see by the firelight, they might be pretty plastered by now. And again the unbidden thought… _What am I doing here?_

Nothing for it. Seto offered up his prayers to Ra, and darted out from behind the one wagon, past the second, and slipped in front of the door to the third. _They can't see me. They're in the light of the fire. I'm in the dark. At best they might be able to make her out. But probably not. _Hopefully_ not. Not through the firelight._ It all happened over a matter of heartbeats. As his thoughts raced, so did his fingers. As the lock sprang open, over the roaring of his own pounding blood, an awed "Who are you?" trickled in through his ears. He looked up, still through the closed door, and his mouth went dry.

_Blue eyes… She has blue eyes. _They shone through the bars.

Jerkily, he pulled the door of the wagon open, feeling almost heady satisfaction at having the power to pull her prison from her. "Come," he said, not even remembering her initial question. He reached into her cell, grabbed her by her upper arms, and half guided, half dragged her out.

She was numb with cold. Her legs buckled beneath her at the sudden office of her weight, and her skin was like ice against his fingers. Without even thinking, he pulled her against him, wrapped his arms fully around her, and did his utmost to share his warmth.

It was strange… It was as if they didn't need words. Both knew they had to run. Both knew they had to pause. Almost the instant after he wrapped his arms around her, she relaxed into his grip. He felt her shaking breaths against his neck. That alone felt hot. His grip on her tightened.

"Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing?!" He didn't have to push her away or tell her what to do. They split apart. He turned to the offender. It was too dark to say, but from his voice Seto would guess that he was one of the two salvers who had been told to "settle down."

It was like picking the lock. Just another split second. Nothing special about it. Nothing. This man, as he charged in a drunken rage – all that Seto cared about concerning _this man_ was that he was trying to take what was his, Seto's. _Mine? What am I thinking?_ He turned the beast's weight against him and topped him to the ground.

"Run!" It was amazing. Seto's mind was now a haze. There was a roaring in his ears. The Earth might have ended in that moment for all he knew, and yet nothing had ever been clearer. Nothing had ever felt as real as when he grabbed that pale girl's hand in his and tore across the dunes to his horse. Nothing was more crisp to the senses than when he grabbed her by her waist and heaved her onto his horse. And, when he climbed in front of her and dug his heels into the creature's flanks, nothing could have resounded in his heart as violently as when she laced her arms around his torso and gripped hold of him for her life.

They rode.

The din that had started up around the fire melted away. The sand melted away. Everything was gone. Everything, except those arms clenched around him, that form, pressed against his back, and that breathing in his ear. _Get a hold of yourself!_ "Are," he croaked, his voice sounding very distant to him, "are they following us?" he asked after some minutes.

His breath caught in his mouth as she shifted to look behind them. "No," she whispered back. Her voice was like a high note on a reed pipe. Meek, but full.

Seto swallowed hard. He needed to get home. His mother would be waiting for him– _had_ been waiting for him Ra knows how long. Behind him he could hear the girl's white hair cracking against the wind. The arms around his waist tightened. But for those arms he felt his heart might have just crashed out of his chest. Or was it because of those arms? Seto smirked. His mother would understand. She wasn't like the other women of his village. She was refined. A lady. As if she had come from somewhere better. He and his mother were also well off. How, Seto didn't know. His father had died in war years ago. However, his mother only said that they were 'provided for.' Which meant… she wouldn't miss the horse. Seto leaned over the side of the mare and unhooked two of the three wheat sacks that had been the original goal of his ride. Was he imagining the reluctance with which his companion's fingers scrapped across his chest as he pulled himself loose of her? He hardly knew.

"The next metropolises is dead ahead! Just follow that constellation, The Soul of Osiris!" he pointed. He wished his voice would start sounding like his own again. "Then-" why did the words stick in his throat? "make your way back to your own country!" He braced himself against the horse, and hauled himself off. He didn't see her face close in against his, but suddenly her mouth was by his ear and her wind-pipe voice filled his mind with "What is your name?" The words whipped out and followed him as he landed in the sand. His throat went dry. That was right. He didn't know her name either. He might never see her again.

"Seto!" he croaked back at her, even as the horse took her farther and farther from him. "SETO!" he almost screamed, trying to make sure she'd heard.

Then, just when he thought she would not turn, would make no acknowledgment of having heard him, having _not_ heard him, she turned, and waved, her pale scrawny arm flailing against the night sky. "Thank you, Seto! I promise, I will return the favor! Thank you!"

And with that, she was gone.

It was all he could do to keep himself from collapsing then and there on the sand and sleeping through till morning. _Not good. Those slavers might follow our tracks. I need to get back home. _In the village his tracks would mix with all the other tracks of his fellow town's people. He would be safe in the village.

That was when it caught his eye. The sun. He squinted. No. It couldn't be. It couldn't be dawn already. It wasn't _that _late. And yet… there it was. Dawn must be approaching, for there, along the horizon, between Earth and sky, was the sliver of fiery light that spilled out before the sun like a red carpet. Seto yawned. His mother will have raised half the village if it was already the next day. He was going to have a lot of explaining to do.

Seto rubbed his hand over his face, trying to smear away exhaustion, and looked again to the horizon. He froze. Since when did the sun rise from the northwest? And since when did the horizon… smoke?

It crashed upon him. His village. His village was bright enough to outline the horizon. His village was burning.

"MOTHER!" Forgotten were the two sacks of wheat and forgotten was his fatigue. Seto tore across the sand as fast as his legs could carry him. Once more a haze enveloped him. And there was no delicate girl to offer him a higher clarity. _This isn't happening. _He scrambled over dunes – _This is not happening_ – leapt off a ledge of sheer rock – _not happening_ – and ran for Ra knows how long.

_THIS CANNOT BE HAPPENING!_

Legs aching from the run, his eyes stinging with sweat and sand, Seto was enveloped by the inferno as he tore into the village. "Mother! _Mother!_ Where are you!?" His eyes were a blur of tears and his nose and throat were clogged full of smoke. He had to find his house. Had to find his house!

It was right on the main square…. Big…. They were well off… The main square…Now a ring of fire. He skidded across the yard. It was untouched! "Mother!" His house was still untouched. Seto lunged forward and was torn back by his collar.

"Hey, you!" Before his blurred vision was suddenly thrust a contorted face, beat red with the heat. It was not a familiar face. He did not know this man. This man had two scars in the shape of a cross on the right side of his bald pate. Why was he stopping Seto from getting to his house? "You're that brat!" The man shook him violently. Seto's vision blacked in the heat. "Where's the girl!?" That voice…

It was the man whom he had toppled at the slavers' caravan.

"_Mother!"_ He lost it. "Let me go! _Let me go!"_ He wormed out of the man's grip and tore blindly for the sanctuary of the house.

"Hold up there!" an arm caught his wrist. Another man. More of the slavers were circling around him now._ It was because of me,_ Seto realized._ They came here and set the village on fire. It's burning… because of me. _

"This your house, boy?" an grey haired slaver almost cooed, sweat dripping off his arm as he lifted a blazing torch from one of the roofs. "What if I…?" He waved it meaningfully.

"No. NO! NO! _NO!"_

"Tell us where the girl is," muttered his captor's voice in his ear. Seto felt his arms being bent back. Surly they would snap. But he could see nothing. Only the torch in the old man's hand. It teetered dangerously close to…

"_**NO!"**_

The grey haired man grinned. It was the wrong answer, though it had not really been an answer at all. He put the torch to the house.

"_**MAMA!"**_ She might not be in the house. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He was choking. Choking on his own breath. He could hear nothing. She might have already escaped. Everything was burning. No longer 'provided for.'

She had not escaped. Somehow, he knew she had not. Perhaps she was not in the house, but she had not escaped. He had lost everything.

Seto fell to his knees. Everything was swimming. No. Burning. The tears were leaving scorch marks down his nose. "…ma…ma…"

And then there was an explosion as part of the burning town seemed to heave from its foundations and, for the second time that night, Seto thought that dawn had come. There was such a torrent of light above his head.

And then… clarity. There came lucidity once more. His vision cleared, and this time the blur of light took the shape not of a girl, but of… of a white dragon. The beast flexed its great wings, its white scales mirroring the light of the blaze a thousand times over and turning the red flames into blue reflections.

Seto threw his arms forward to stop his fall. _He let go of my wrists, _he thought numbly. The roar of the fire had been deafened by the roar of the dragon. Seto turned his head up to stare. Now the screams of the town's people were taken up again by the slavers.

All was clarity – the shrieks of "monster," the blistering sand under his fingertips, and the dragon who took on Judgment when no god was moved to action. It reared its head back, and gathered the purist light between its teeth. It then unleashed a searing fury upon the retreating slavers. In years to come Seto would remember every detail of this inferno, this night he lost everything. He would remember the _effect,_ while his subconscious would take from him the _cause._ He could not have the girl. Why recall that she existed? He would probably never see her again. His mind was overwhelmed.

Seto threw his arms up to protect himself from the new blast of heat. The slavers gave out a final anguished scream. This was a dry, crisp heat. Dry, crisp… Clear.

And then… _Oblivion. _


	3. Promises Broken

**Promises Broken**

Duelist Kingdom Arc

Part I

_Seto Kaiba: 18 years old_

_Kisara Pegasus: 15 years old_

…

Kaiba watched the light above the elevator move, indicating that the Mutou boy had arrived. Sure enough, as the doors slid open, the midget brat and his trusty loser patrol spilled into the room. The pipsqueak did not see him, but only his grandfather, sprawled on the floor before them all. "Grandpa!" he cried out, multicolored spikes of hair waiving in every direction as he stumbled into the middle of the room to the old man. "Grandpa, are you okay?"

_Oh yes, he's just fine. Can't you tell? That's why he's hyperventilating on my floor. _He was going to have to call in the janitors, what with the way old man was spluttering everywhere.

"Yugi," Oh? So he could talk now. If only the brat had arrived a few minutes earlier, when Old Man Mutou had been left blubbering nonsense before the holographic beasts Kaiba had set upon him. The senile failure was now muttering about his _Heart of the Cards. _Kaiba had had his ears filled with _that _already. _Tish. Relating a card to a living creature. Ridicules. _The old man collapsed again.

"Grandpa!" The boy wailed like a suckling pig. Strange how Kaiba both despised melodramas and yet reveled in them.

Brushing a nonexistent speck of dust off his uniform, Kaiba sighed, pushed himself off the door frame, and stepped into the light. "So, how's the old man feeling, mm?"

_Oh the indignation that ripples through the crowed. __**Villain music**__ if you please, Maestro. _

"Kaiba!" One of Yugi's chums cried out. It was the blond boy who had wanted to 'play Duel Monsters together.' Yes, he was definitely going to have to call the janitors. "You sleaze, what have you done to him?!"

_We danced the waltz. Isn't it obvious?_ Kaiba's smirk widened. "We had a duel, that's all; with each of us putting up our most valuable card as the prize." It was actually a very good idea, really. He would have to store it away in his memory for when he decided to host a Duel Monsters tournament – one of the many things he had always dreamed of and which he could now accomplish with money and influence at his fingertips. "But," he shrugged – _Look how remorseful I am – _"I guess playing against a champion like myself was just too much stimulation for the old fool."

"Kaiba!" The girl of the group now howled out his name and threw her arm out at him, pointing, as if to pronounce everlasting damnation! _It's a finger. Help._ "You should be ashamed of yourself!"

. . . Wow. _Wow._ Now_ there _was a statement.

"It was fair." He shrugged, reaching his hand into his pocket. _Heart of the Cards. Give me a break. _"And look," It was true, he loved this card better than any other. _But to attribute it human qualities…_

Those eyes, looking at him through the bars of… of what?

…_Ridicules._ Four cards. Only three allowed in a person's deck. He was eighteen now, and had long overthrown his beast of a stepfather and taken his place as CEO of KaibaCorp. And hadn't she promised to protect him? She had never fulfilled that promise. Broken it! He felt no regrets at taking what was owed him. No regrets about kidnapping this old man and practically wrestling this last card from his quivering fingers. And hadn't he once given up _everything _for her? Watched it burn to _nothing?_

_Nothing? …Everything?…Had he? …When?…_

…'_Her?'…_

"Look," he said loudly, overriding his own thoughts, "at the sweet prize I won." Almost convulsively, he jerked the_ Blue-Eyes White Dragon_ from his pocket, and tore it in half before their eyes.

**…**

Kisara kept her gaze fixed on the red-carpeted staircase before her as the ascended, one hand loose on the railing. She was chewing on the inside of her cheek, thinking. Something was strange. Her father had been uneasy lately. More so than usual. He was always giddy, but now there was almost something… sinister about his actions. Giddy, sometimes sorrowful, and sometimes_ alarming, _he had never been sinister. But now… It was as if he was a tiger waiting in the brush. Crouched… tense… eager.

She shook her head, trying to rid herself of such thoughts. Two strands of her hair tussled free and flopped before her eyes. She sighed, still ascending the stairs, and took her hand off the railing to tuck the strands behind her ear again. _No matter what I do they always, _always_ fall back in front–_

She was rent in half.

That was what it felt like. It was as if some giant arm had taken her in hold, and twisted, as if she was nothing but paper. She did not know if her foot landed on the next step. The searing pain tore through her sides. Her sight turned to white fire. It was as if her legs were cleaved from her torso. Her back arched, her hair splayed, her blue eyes, sightless, stood wide with pain and fear, and from her throat was wrenched so anguished a scream that everyone in the castle – everyone save one individual, calmly sipping wine in his chambers – was shaken to the bone and chilled to the heart. Such a scream_… it was not human._

Kisara collapsed in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, her body still whole. Her soul, however, ripped in half.

"So," Pegasus swiveled the wine in his glass thoughtfully. "It begins." Now all he needed was to hear Croquet's report on the outcome of Kaiba and Yugi-boy's duel.


	4. A Promise Remembered, Too Late

**A Promise Remembered. Too Late.**

Memory Arc

Part II

_Priest Seto: 20 years old_

_The Lady of the White Dragon: 17 years old_

…

Mahado was dead.

Seto rubbed his fingers against his temples, trying to keep down the headache. The jostling of the litter in which he was being carried and the Egyptian heat weren't helping any.

Was Seto grieving though? Really? Not really, no. Mahado had been a brat raised to his position by birthright. Any of the talent that he had naturally had as a magician had been so blown out of proportion by pampering tutors and student-friendly environments that any of his own worth had been smothered in the process. It was no wonder he had cracked under his first real battle. And the way Mahado had always been so _eager_ to be loyal and had always been so _eager_ to please. It had been revolting. One could be loyal to the Pharaoh without licking his throne every other minute.

Pathetic.

No, Seto did not feel any remorse at the loss of Mahado. The Ring, however, was another matter. Mahado, one of the Seven Guardians of the Pharaoh, apart from his own life, had lost the Millennium Ring to Bakura. Now the Guardians were not only fighting the most skilled and ruthless killer in the land, but the same man, with a weapon on par with their own Millennium Items. Damn Mahado for his foolishness!

Seto looked over at Shada, who was in a litter right next to his own. The street down which they were being carried was relatively quiet, the townspeople all bowing as they passed. However, Seto could still hear the hustle and bustle of market life just one street down. It was so strange sometimes… That had been his own world for so long. And now it was always, always a street away…

Shada looked saddened. _He_ felt the loss of Mahado. Seto studied him for a moment out of the corner of his eye. Now that he thought about it, _everyone _was touched by the death but himself. The Pharaoh had seemed as if he might disintegrate into his thrown when the news reached him, so devastated did he look. He had leapt on a horse and galloped to the site were the stone plaque stood, as if Death were at his own heels, rather than at those of the fallen magician. To the Pharaoh Mahado had been, aside from his royal adviser, his childhood friend. His closest friend. Then there was Mana, that annoying apprentice of Mahado's. She had first sobbed a river of tears at the base of that stone tablet into which Mahado's soul had been etched, clawing at it with her fingers as if she could somehow reach through the granite to her dead master. And then, when she had finally run out of tears… she had become eerily silent. Seto had last seen her looking over one of the palace's many balconies, puffy eyed and soundless.

And as for Isis… well, she had acted as though nothing had changed. She had calmly comforted Mana – comforted her in front of that very stone tablet! – and had slipped into Mahado's role of the Pharaoh's adviser as if she were water being poured into a momentarily empty gap where a rock had been thrown, and ripples had appeared. But only for a moment. She smoothed those rippers out, almost without blinking an eye. As if ripples, rather than death itself, had washed over her world – her other half.

…Funny, it had been years since Seto had felt that way for anyone. He had known the pain that Mana was now going through. It had once been seared into him as his world burned around him. Isis… He knew that he would never, ever feel her pain. And he was the better for it.

Seto smirked.

"Seto," Shada suddenly said, dragging Seto out of his musing. "Do you really believe that Bakura is still alive?" There was a sort of subdued desperation in his voice. As if he could not believe that Mahado had died for nothing.

"That's a foolish question." Seto answered in a monotone, shifting to make himself more comfortable in the litter. "That man's ka rivals in power to that of the gods. You saw it that time, didn't you?" Out of the corner of his eye he saw Shada shudder at the memory of the confrontation between Bakura and the Guardians, back in the throne room, when the Pharaoh had summoned a god. And when Bakura had _survived._ "Mahado died in vain," he said bluntly. _A dog's death. _"Moreover, the situation has worsened."

"The ring?" _Astute, isn't he._

Seto couldn't dignify the obvious with more than a nod.

Then, after a pause, "With the Millennium Ring, that man's power has amplified tenfold, if not more," he said, scanning the crowd. They had come out here for a reason. "We also must hurry and reinforce our own kas, or else he will become too powerful for us to handle." Fool that Shada was, Seto still needed him. "Shada, your Millennium Key can see within people's hearts. You can also see if a person carries a powerful ka. You must help me eliminate the threats!" The harvesting of kas. It was such a delicious, simple plan. In a kingdom of this caliber – no, in a _city_ of this caliber – with all of its corruption and foul play… Shada wouldn't understand. He hadn't been brought up in it. He hadn't fought through it to get where he was.

Seto knew. Seto had. And here we was now. On a litter, carried about above the lot of them. He sometimes had to wonder – what was the actual worth of being honored and respected by the sort of scum over whom he now had power?

"You can't be serious!" Shada blustered. Tish. Typical. "We can't examine the hearts of innocent people!" _…Innocent?_ Did he really just say _innocent?_ How absolutely laughable. "Looking into someone's heart is a crime! Not even a priest can do it!" He had not expected Shada to understand. Even his mentor, Akhenaden, had resisted and advised against the actions he, Seto, now planned to take.

_Can?_ What a funny word. _Will_ was the only thing stopping the priests from doing anything. They had the power to do anything they liked. _We __**can **__do anything. But the other Guardians… they __**will **__do nothing._ Unlike Bakura. Unlike himself.

Seto had fought his entire life to lift himself from the mire and into the glittering, shining world to which he now belonged. He would not allow that world to crumble to muck around him. Did they not understand? Without action, the bricks that had been baked into those royal fineries would oh so easily crumple back into the dust from whence they came. Seto knew. He had seen it.

That was what the Pharaoh represented to him. The Pharaoh was that symbol of betterment that Seto had fought all his life to reach. The Pharaoh was something to be protected. Something not damaged by the pettiness of life. He was Ra. He was the Sun. An ideal.

An ideal that Seto had given his life to protecting. Could any of the other Guardians claim as much? Could any of them put into such certain words that which they simply called 'loyalty?'

"_Listen,"_ he said. It was not a request. It was a command. "From now on, we will not only be fighting Bakura, but the Millennium Ring as well." Again Shada winced. _Yes, know it to be true you soft hearted man. Mahado's weapon – the one you have seen him carry and cherish all of his life – may very well be the cause of your, or my, __**death.**__ That is the price to be paid for Mahado's foolishness, and your own. _"Do you think we can oppose it? And do you think another like him might not rise and threaten this country if we do not harvest his evil soul now? Do you think the Guardians have the power to oppose such a threat?" A Millennium Item, in the hands of one who _will,_ as well as _can,_ do anything he must do to achieve his end?

Shada opened his mouth to protest, but Seto cut him off. "Also, if the Pharaoh is put into danger once more do you plan on relying on the gods' power again?"

The words died on Shada's lips. A smirk twitched upon Seto's.

"Halt!" he called out, turning from his fellow to the guards carrying his litter. With a jolt, the procession stopped, and Seto jumped from his seat. The dust rose under his feet as he landed. A small, nettling voice in the back of his mind would forever tell him that it was here, in the dust, that he belonged. Not there, on a littler, protecting so high a cause as the Pharaoh.

However, one look at Shada assured him that he was hardly one to think himself unworthy of his station. "Shada," he said flatly, meeting the man's eyes. "Mahado's actions were foolish." He could just see the muscle twitch in Shada's jaw at those words. Still, the man kept his peace. "However, we cannot simply rely on the gods alone. Bakura can challenge them. They are not reliable." The gods had never been reliable in Seto's eyes. Everything he was, he was because of his own merit. No god had ever helped him.

_None, except for…_

He turned sharply to the guards not carrying the litters who had come from the palace with himself and Shada. "Bring here any person that seems suspicious! Whether it be in clothes, appearance or race! Arrest all those who refuse to leave their dwellings! This is all to protect the Pharaoh!"

The men saluted him, and dispersed. Authority will bring peace to this world. _Stone tablets are nothing when compared to the ruthlessness of the common man's justice. _

Seto knew it would have been foolish to order them to first look within their own hearts, and see if they were really in a position to pass judgment upon their fellow men.

…

"Let go!" The howl overrode the pious silence around them and the sound of hustle and bustle just one street away. "Let go of me, DAMNIT!" The guards wrestled yet another resisting man to the ground.

"Lord Seto, we found this exiled criminal in the bar!" One of the guards gasped out, still holding down their prisoner. Two other guards slid the butts of their spears under the struggling man's chin, and raised his face to Seto's, and the man actually met Seto's eyes.

_Consider yourself lucky, scum. Other men have died for less than looking up into my face. Then again, you still may. _

Seto smirked. "Heh. An exile?" His eyes were sunken, and were dried like raisins. And yet, they seemed bottomless. The man on the ground still wore the ball and chain with which the exiled from the city were branded. Such men were blindfolded and driven out in a wagon to the farthest reaches of the dessert. There were they deposited, and left to die. Such was their punishment. To have made it all the way back to the capitol… This miserable wretch might yet have some potential in him. "Shada, search for this man's ka."

Hesitantly, Shada raised his item to face the man beneath him. "Millennium Key, look into this man's heart." The Key shone, making beams of light between Shada's closed fingers, and the exile flinched away, not because of any physical pain, but because of an attack that now went far deeper than the skin – to his core.

Rotten core.

"…In this one the ka gives birth to new wicked ideas. It isn't very strong, but if we leave him alone, he may become corrupted once again."

"Tish. Just a small-fry?" _So much for having survived the desert._ How… disappointing. Still… _I wonder how much his spirit can grown in response to revenge and hatred. …Well, I suppose you could call it an 'experiment.' _"Even if it's only one in ten thousand… Take him away to the underground prison!"

"Yes, sir!"

"P-please wait! I just crawled in from the desert today! I just wanted a drink in the bar! That's all I wanted! _I just got back! _How could I be a sinful man beyond redemption!?"

"From the moment the new evil ka was born, your fate was sealed," Seto said coolly. _This is what becomes of men without purpose. Men who do not know a cause worth fighting for to purify themselves._

"Got it?" Seto spoke to the soldiers around him. "We limit ourselves to criminals," he had begun to narrow his field. He was getting a feel for this harvesting of souls. "But sink your teeth into them without mercy!"

"Yes sir!"

"NEXT!"

And then Shada twitched. Wonderful. "Ugh, just _stop it, _Seto! The Pharaoh would never forgive you!"

For a breath of a moment, the thought almost nettled him. Almost. _I don't need his forgiveness. I need his life. I need him to exist. To be for me a cause to fight for. _

"Shada…" He said as patiently as he could. "We need to enforce our authority to protect the kingdom's structure from rebels! We do not know if there is a second Bakura out there, and we must and will take what precautions we can, both against the present enemy of the state, and any enemies that may surface in the future!"

"This can't be!" Seto turned to see that the exile he had just sent away had dug his feet into the ground, refusing to be moved. "What you're flaunting 'round ain't _authority!_ If you do this to me, you'll be _cursed!_ You'll all be judged by God!" Seto rolled his eyes, and made to turn away. "I saw it with my own eyes!" The man howled, his voice pooling with hysteria. "In the middle of the desert, there was the very incarnation of Ra! A light brighter than the sun! It's thanks to it that I was able to return to this city alive! That's right. _The White Dragon appeared!"_

Seto flinches involuntarily, and his eyes snapped back onto the exile. Suddenly, despite the heat of the day, a chill rode through his veins. "What? A… a _white dragon?_" The burning village. The heat. The clarity. …All faded in an instance.

And yet… the burn remained.

"It's true!" the exile blustered, seeing in the Priest's reaction a hope of survival for himself. _"The White Dragon is in this city!_ It will _definitely _protect me!"

"White dragon… in this city…" Seto's throat was very dry.

"When I saw that dragon," the exile rambled on, "I knew it had answered my prayers! I knew it was a god! I god that actually _heard_ the prayers of mortal men! An' I swore! I swore I wouldn't do anything bad, every again! An' I wanted… I wanted to fly away like that dragon! Oh, I wished I could! But all folks are born in chains! Chain's called life! Unless you're beloved by a god, ya ain't ever free."

Seto's head was pounding… With a sharp turn he had his back to the exile. His back to this story, this fantasy! "Let's go!" He no longer had thoughts for this reprobate. Nor for his lies!

Through the din of his own head he thought he heard Shada call his name.

"WAIT!" The exile's wail pierced through the muddle in Seto's mind, even as he walked away. "It's really the divine punishment! _The White Dragon's divine punishment!"_

The guards' threats blurred behind Seto. "How dare you!" "Open your mouth again and we'll cut off your tongue!" "Throw him in the desert!" Seto continued to walk forward without turning back.

Years later, when Seto sat on the throne in his old age, the kingdom at peace, and his sons and daughters grown, he had to wonder if there had not been some truth in the curse that exile had laid on him all those years ago. If that White Dragon had not indeed been brought into his life as a punishment. A light brighter even than the Pharaoh – than Ra. The light he would never be able to touch, but which had touched him so entirely that he would feel her scorch on his lips for the rest of his life – no, for the rest of Time.

_Divine Punishment._

…

With a yelp she collapsed on the ground. Her legs just… couldn't hold her any more. She tried to twitch. _Move. __**Move.**_ A rock bit into her shoulder. She twitched. And that was all. When all else failed her, her legs had always been there to carry her away. She could _always _run away. But not today. Then again… _Why?_ _Why do I still keep running?_

One, two, three more rocks cut into her. _Ah._ _What's why._ Even if she knew it was for nothing, she would run from pain. Was that normal? For people to run from pain, knowing as they do that it will only lead them into more pain? The rocks. Her head, her back, her leg. _Why? Why do they keep doing that?_ Doing what? Running? Or causing people to run? Which do people do more frequently?

"Get out of this city!" Oh. Why wouldn't her fingers move? "You won't swindle water out of us!" Broken?

…_all I wanted was some water._ She knew this was the desert. She knew water was hard to come by. But she just… she couldn't go into the river herself. She couldn't. Not again. Not that raging torrent. Not again.

"This woman is unmistakably a witch!"

_Oh, don't I know it._ The rocks pummeled down on her. She hardly felt them.

"You're a bad omen!"

Yet they kept falling. Crushing her. Like the water. Like the torrent.

"…ow…" She twitched again. And then stopped. She stopped herself. _I will not run. Anymore._ Hadn't she already promised herself that once many, many years ago? For all the good it ever did her. _That's not true,_ she flinched, almost as if she flinched at her own attempt to justify herself, rather than at the rainstorm of rocks. _That's not true. Once you did not run away. One time in your life you kept your promise. The time you saved that boy. You saved the boy named…'Seto.'. _

_No,_ the truth in her soul answered. _You killed him. You killed his family. You killed his village. You slaughtered them all in cold blood. As you once did to your own family and your own home._

"That's right!" The mob around her all agreed. "That's right!" They roared on and on and around her like waves. They were a blur around her. The rocks. One hit her along the face. Her eye. Everything blurred.

She whimpered. _Why do I still have the strength to whimper? _Surly… surly the strength to run away would be the last strength to leave her.

"Look, get the troops over here!" The troops? Was she to be punished? _Took them long enough. _But , she could not abide pain. _Abide pain? I live naught but pain._

…_and I deserve it all. _

" This woman is a witch!" If everyone says so, then it must be true.

"Her skin is pale!" True. Though once upon a time that was not a strange thing. Not where she had come from.

"And her eyes are light blue!" True again.

"She's a disaster!" _All. True._

Her breathing. Why was it so hard to breathe? It was like something was crushing down on her. Like the water… the water was crushing down on her… again. Her eyes went wild, and everything was a sea of dust. _What do I do?_

"Dun' look in her eyes! She'll curse you!"

_No, little boys. I only have one soul to sell…_

"That's so scary bro~"

She smiled, and her teeth scraped the dust. Brothers, eh? Siblings. What a… beautiful, terrible bond. She… she had once… had… once…

The water.

She needed to get… get to her. Get to her through the water!

…_MOVE!_

She convulsed and, as every ounce of flesh bone and blood left her screaming in pain inside, she raised herself onto her elbows, and surveyed the mob that was her just deserts. "Please…" she reached an arm out. _I need to get to her._ Her throat was so dry. Her head was spinning. Why had she come here again? She couldn't remember. All she knew was that she needed to get to her! Needed to get to her through the… "…water…" She tried to swallow, and if she had had any food in her at the time, now she would have given it up. _Oh how the world is __**spinning!**_"I promise I'll leave…"

_I would never burden you with my curse as well. I would never damn your siblings, your families, your homes…_ As if she had ever been able to keep a promise in her entire life.

"There!" The water that the man smashed into her face from the confines of a bucket was more terrible, more painful and more horrifying to her senses than any amount of rocks could ever have been. Her mind and body reeled as one. "Happy now? Now get the hell away!"

Back into the dust she collapsed.

…

He had decided to walk for a while. The littler was cramped and irritating and he needed to walk. It made no difference to him if Shada gave him strange glances. The villagers fell upon their knees regardless. They prayed homage to the litter in which he was carried and the position that he held; not to the man that he was.

_This would be a very twisted city indeed if men, women and children prayed homage to one such as __**me.**_ He smirked.

The first thing he noticed as he turned onto a new street was that everyone in sight did not fall and pay homage in one wave. They were preoccupied, as a pack of unruly hounds is preoccupied with a plaything will not notice or take head of its master approaching.

Seto smirked. He did not need Shada's Key to tell that this mob was rife with corrupted degenerates. At an easy pace he began to approach, savoring in their obliviousness to his presence. It was too delightful. And look. Two small ragged children. He wondered… how great were the kas in their souls? Seto always laughed when his fellow Guardians exalted the innocents of children. What a funny little lie! Children were vile, greedy little monsters. They cared for nothing and no one. If anything, they were more horrid than adults, some of whom at least had learned to curb their viler natures.

He ought to know. He had been a child once.

One of the two boys, the older one, turned around momentarily, and saw him. A spasm of fear crossed the child's face, as if he knew that Seto could see right into him.

_And I can._ Seto's smile curled into a smirk.

The boy grabbed his smaller companion by the arm, whispered something in his ear, and shot from the mob and from Seto as if he had been burned, dragging his little brother after.

_Such an intuitive little piece of sh-_

The gap that the two boys left in the crowd was a small one. Hardly the breadth of a man. But through that gap Seto saw a streak of white hair tinged red in the dirt of the street.

The roaring filled his ears and the clarity broke through his vision once again at that one glimpse of her.

…_again?..._

"WHAT'S GOING OH HERE?!"

A hush fell upon the crowd as they all, quite shamelessly, turned to look him in the face. No bowing. No falling to their knees. Oh, but he almost preferred it. The feeling of resentment and fear that rippled raw through the street was so much more tangible than all of that kowtowing. And then the silence was broken by a particularly astute individual. He laughed out loud, as if proud of his actions. Proud that the highest men in the realm could see them.

Another cried out, just as astutely, "Hey, it's the priests!"

…_My oh my. Do the crowds go __**wild.**_Seto's mouth curled again. Only, rather than his usual smirk, he could feel his own face shaping more into the form of… _a snarl. _With a steady pace he approached the crowd, and they did indeed make room for him like pets for their master. Finally, when he got to the mob's heart, he saw her in full. He looked at her for a long moment. There was enough space about her to show that none had dared to get too close. Seto could see nothing of her face. It was entirely covered by a long mat of white hair. She might have been an old woman, but no. Even in her battered condition, even with the blotches of red that mingled into the sand and spread thin by the water she had been drenched in… he could tell she was not old. No. She was younger than even he. The way her sopping garments held to her… She shifted. Her shoulder blades shuddered and moved like two separate beings, shifting against each other beneath her already drenched garment. How thin she was.

Her head was hooded by an extension of her dress. She took in a rattled gasp in the silence – alive at least – and coughed violently. She must have breathed in sand. Her entire frame rocked with the force, and she turned her head to the side to cough out the debris. She stopped. Her mouth still quivered. But nothing else. Her body became still, as a mouse became still when it knew it was under the keen eye of a hawk. All was still in the crowd. All was still as the Priest fixed his eyes upon this creature. Nothing moved.

Nothing, but the girl's own eye beneath one half-opened, battered eyelid. With a sudden jolt it turned its vague stare from the dirt – and returned Seto's piercing stare with her own. She coughed.

He blanched.

To the shock of all present the disgusted look that had been fixed on Priest Seto's face for the last many moments did not remain on the girl, but turned to the crowd about them. "What have you disgraces done to this girl!" Had it been another time, another place, Seto might very well have sneered at such an obvious question. Had it come from someone else. Because of something else. As it was, his anger was beyond his usual cool and supercilious demander. It _boiled._ He felt… _livid._ "You threw rocks at a defenseless woman?!" He unleashed, just as Shada caught up to him with his own guards. Why? What of it? Even as he shouted Seto's own logic attempted to keep pace with him. Women were beaten, killed and raped every day. Why did this one matter? Was it because he actually saw her? Did she remind him of his dead mother? Yes. Her death, gruesome and terrible as it was would forever sit heavy in his heart. But no…No. His reaction now was nothing so logical.

"I SHOULD HAVE YOU _**ALL **_CASTRATED FOR THIS FELLONY!" He was positively spitting at them. His face was red. His body trembled. How dare they! How _dare_ they! And after he had promised to _protect her! _After he had sworn his sword into her service!

…_What?...When?_ His own thoughts confused him.

"Well…" One man tried to splutter an excuse from the crowd. "See…" faltered another. "No!" Pleaded a third. And then, one further still cried out "Please, we're sorry!" All fell still, as if even his fellow scum knew the last man had taken the apologies too far. Seto turned his back on them. For the moment.

"Give her water!" he hissed to his guards. He caught the shocked expression on Shada's face. Shocked at the scene before him? Seto doubted it. No. He was shocked at Seto. Even Guardians with their attuned sense of_ justice_ rarely reacted with such open temper. They were bred for higher things. They had been bred in nobler atmospheres. Well, not Seto.

"…Yes sir." One of the attendants of the Priests reached for the leather pouch that contained Seto's water. Whenever the priests went out about the city they went with refreshments. Fresh and dried fruits, wine, and of course, water. However, it had only been brought in supplies for the two Priests. So, of course, it was Seto's personal camel skin pouch that the attendant brought forth. …Why was it that Seto took note of that?

All too hesitantly the attendant approached the woman. He was scared. He was like the rest of them. Seto should have him flogged! It was everything Seto could do to not wrench the pouch out of the stupid man's hands, and help her himself. Could the fool not see how desperately she needed it?

The attendant kneeled down in the ground next to the fallen woman and, pausing for only a moment longer, reached out to try and bring her to a sitting position. Seto did everything he could to control the spasm that came over him as this other man touched her. How he turned her over, while all the while keeping her at much as he could at arm's length! How her head rolled back and lolled on his shoulder and how he, insolent idiot that he was, had the gall to flinch away!

…How… how her hood fell back, and fully exposed the mane of long white hair that now pooled from her head to the sand. How they all gasped. Those fools! And how Seto inhaled sharply at the sight of that pale arching neck, so slender, so beautiful.

He blinked in irritation. Where did such thoughts come from?

As he watched, Seto observed with well contained shock how… how severed this girl really was, even from herself. When the attendant tried to bring her to a sitting position by supporting her back, her entire body, as a body should, did not come up with his supporting arm. Rather, neither shoulder seemed to be connected to the other. Nor either connected to her head. It took a full minute for the man to prop her up completely, and keep her so. Watched closely by Seto's piercing gaze, the attendant lifted the camel pouch to her lips – _**My**__ camel pouch_ – and, after a moment of the water trickling down the side of her mouth, Seto saw her throat begin to work, and she swallowed, and again, and again, and coughed.

The attendant pulled the pouch away from her mouth so that she might cough freely. Her head lolled back onto his shoulder, her eyes fluttered open for a moment and, so quietly Seto almost missed it, she whispered, "…Thank you…so much…" The sound of a reed pipe. Her eyes slipped closed, and she fell limp once more.

Seto blinked at the girl. She had an accent. Not a strong one, but it was there. And she was polite. Curious. And then… jealousy pricked him. To whom had she said that thank you? Surly not to the ingrate who had given her water against his better judgment. Surly it had been to him, Seto! Surly she had seen him in those few moments of revival!

The attendant however, had clearly thought the thank you had been directed at himself. Seto watched with immediate annoyance at the way the man's features softened toward the girl in his arms. "Sir, she's very weak," he offered out loud. How strange, that with one phrase of gratitude this girl had turned the man's utter fear… to genuine concern.

Once more Seto's face curled into a snarl at this… this _fickle_ man. "Then make sure to be particularly careful with her." What was he doing? Why was he reacting like this? It was mad.

"What's wrong, Seto?" Shada had stepped up beside him, placed a hand on his shoulder, and whispered urgently his concern.

Seto slowly turned his eyes upon his fellow Guardian. His gaze was scathing. _Take a good look at the scene played out before you. If you still see nothing wrong, let me know, and I might just castrate you too. _

He may very well have said as much, had not Shada flinched away from him, as if he had been scorched. "What this?!" There was an actual look of alarm on his face, and he pulled forth this Millennium Key, even as he stumbled back.

"What's wrong, Shada?" Seto now echoed back at his fellow Guardian, only he made no pretence at concern. His voice was raw with excitement. Had Shada picked up the power of a criminal ka from among the crowd? No. No… he had raised the key…toward the girl.

"This woman's ka…" Shada gasped, the Millennium Item now clearly vibrating in his hand. "I can't measure it! It's too powerful!"

_What!?_

"I can see- I can see the ka…. Inside her heart…" The Millennium Key was shaking so violently in his grasp that Seto was actually worried that Shada would drop the thing! "It has tremendous power hidden deep inside her! It's… it's a _white dragon!" _

Somewhere, something inside of Seto…broke. Or…was it reset? …_A white dragon?_ Seto blinked, and stared mutely ahead, not looking at Shada. Not looking at the girl. His glazed stare only broke when, rather than letting the Key fall from his hands, Shada screamed and fell to his knees, himself overpowered by the very presence, dormant though it seemed to be, of the ka of this… this girl.

"Shada!" Seto balanced. His fellow had sooner collapsed than relinquished his Millennium Item. Perhaps there were some Guardian instincts in him yet.

"To think that there was someone… with such a latent ka!" Shada panted, clutching at his knees with his shaking hands. Sweat was pooling down the sides of his head, and his eyes were fixed on the girl. …The girl.

"What?" Seto asked, slightly dazed now. _In this woman, a powerful ka?_ He too now turned to look at her. The still damp clothing. The arching, alabaster throat. That cascading mane of white hair. Those lips, gently parted, even now as she took in one after another raged breathe – clinging to life. So weak. So… What were _these thoughts!?_ Seto sneered, this time at himself.

_So awesome a ka… If I can extract her ka it'd be possible to increase my authoritative power over the kingdom_. Then he would be able to do what must be done, with no interference from fools like Shada. More power. He needed to have more power if he was to protect this country… and its Ra. Its Sun. Its Pharaoh.

"Take this woman at once! Be sure that she has food and water available! That's an order!" He barked, his mind made up. Why not? He had spilled innocent blood before. This would be no different. It would always be spilt. Whether or not he existed. If anything, he would be doing this poor wretch of a girl a favor. He would give her a _quick_ death.

"Yes sir!" saluted one of his guards. "Shall we put her in a prison cell with the others?"

For some reason he could not explain, the feelings from mere moments before flooded back, beyond anything he could control rationally. The very thought of her being alone with all those criminals, all those wonton men… the thought alone made his blood boil. Why? _"…No," _he said more forcibly than perhaps he should have, "give her a room in the palace, so that she can get plenty of rest." …_After all, I don't want her damaged. And I did promise a __**quick**__ death. _

He looked about himself. Many of the culprits of the beating had made a quiet escape of the crowd. But the same token, many curious onlookers had joined it. It was time to end this little melodrama. Seto turned to his soldiers with his old smirk. Time for a little game of cat and mouse. "Search for more people with evil kas! And let all those who are present here be imprisoned!" With a multitude of screaming and shoving, the mob dissipated into all directions, the Royal soldiers at their heels. Well, that took care of that.

The street became deserted but for Seto, Shada who was still on his knees, a handful of the Priests' attendants, and the girl.

It did not take the men long to regroup. But even so Seto began to regret sending them out on wild goose chases to begin with. He no longer cared for the petty criminals they brought him. He had his prize. Finally, when all his men had reassembled, he addressed them again. "No one is to speak of this to the Pharaoh! We do not have the luxury to be as _lenient_ as in the past!" He did not want the Pharaoh knowing about her. Did not want anyone to see her blue eyes and fair skin. She was his. Always his.

…_What?_

He ignored the few sidelong glances his guards exchanged. Ignored Shada, who was only now clambering back to his feet, and who himself gave him a sharp look. "Shada, lets return to the Palace." Without another word, Seto swept onward, ignoring the litter, his fellow Guardian, his men, and the fact that, out of the corner of his eye he could see as the attendant who had given her water now hauled the girl over onto his shoulder. _And the way he wrapped an arm around her waist for support!_ Seto's knuckled turned white as his grip on the Millennium Rod tightened.

Behind him he could hear the royal Caller, "The Great Priests are returning to the Palace!"

He could also hear as one of the remaining soldiers called back, "We will stay here and guard the city!"

He could hear it all, but he listened to none of it. His ears and mind were full of a voice as gentle as a reed-pipe's tune. _"Thank you… so much..."_

…

His steps echoed loudly on the stone floor. He had said to give her a private room in the palace. However, there were cells with bars in the Palace as well. Seto doubted that the Pharaoh knew as much. Nor would he ever have to.

The fire from the torchlight crackled. His footsteps echoed on the stone. He turned a corner. There, two guards. Between them… a grated door. Seto squared his shoulders.

"What is the woman's condition?" he asked, coming to stand between the two men in front of the caged door.

"Lord Seto," the two guards bowed while one answered for both. They were very large, muscular men. It almost seemed ludicrous to place such a guard on the girl. Almost– had Seto not himself witness Shada collapse to the ground at being in her very presence. While she was yet unconscious. "She is still asleep. The doctor says she will recover with rest." From such hardship to recover with simply rest? Seto peered through the darkness at her. True, that all of her wounds seemed to have been tended. But no medicine? No constant application of ointments? Had he not known the physicians to be deathly loyal to the Pharaoh and his house, he would have thought them liars. But they would not lie to a Priest. She must be a strong girl, despite her appearance.

For a moment, a long moment, he peered at her through those bars. Even from here her hair was stark in the darkness. For a moment, as for so many moments before since he had laid eyes on this strange girl only that morning, he wondered why the sight of her… disturb him so? These bars. He glanced at them briefly. He somehow felt that… that he should be the one removing them, not grating her door with them. _He remembered…_ Seto shook his head. As he had before, whenever he strained his memory so, all that came to flash before his eyes was his mother… and the fire. He needed no such thoughts now. He had never had scruples before on such missions. This would be no different. "Hand me a torch. Unlock the door."

The door creaked as it opened. He entered with a burning touch and, before coming any closer to the sleeping occupant of the single cot across the room, he kindled the one torch in the room. He then slid the handle of the one he was carrying into an empty holster on the wall. Seto then stood there, for a time, his fingers still on the torch. Finally, he let his hand drop, and turned.

The fires crackled about them. His steps once more echoed on the stone floor. He stood over her. A part of her face had swollen from the beating. His throat tightened. Her body, even the little of it he could see beneath the blanket that now covered her, was completely bandaged. And what was not covered by bandages was visibly bruised. How often had she undergone such treatment? Surly, with her skin and coloring this could be no new occurrence. Not among the _honorable_ people of Egypt. Seto knew their ranks all too well.

Where had she come from? He stared at her in almost inescapable fascination. _Lady of the White Dragon… _he thought, knowing no other name by which to address her, even in his own thoughts. _How much pain must color your blue eyes before the dragon is released to the heavens?_

He had to harden his resolve. He clenched his fists, even as he gazed upon her beaten form in the firelight. _I __**will**__ make the White Dragon my servant, no matter what… even if I must sacrifice the __**life **__of its wielder…_ He would let no one stand in his way. And the feelings this girl seemed to bring forth in him… The sooner she was gone, the better. He turned to extinguish the torches. Why had he bothered lighting them to begin with?

"…_Seto…"_

The torch Seto had lifted from its holster clattered to the ground. He felt his world spin. He teetered, and only just managed to throw out his arm before he knocked against the wall. He stared down that the torch at his feet as it spluttered, wafted heat up into his face, and then went out. His mouth was very dry.

_How did she…? Don't be a fool! There could be any number of ways! She might have heard Shada addressing you. She… she might have heard one of the guards. She…_ Seto turned. She was asleep. Had she, for a moment, awoken just then? Or had… had his name been spoken in her sleep?

Again he approached her, though much more unsteadily now. And this time he came closer still. He chanced a furtive glance at the door. _Idiot._ What had he to fear? As if the guards had any say or importance in this matter. The girl was his, after all. His. Priest Seto's. This woman was his to do with as he pleased. And no one would or could begrudge him. Again his attention returned to… her. Hesitantly he leaned forward and propped his arms on either side of her head, looming over her. And stared. _White hair… blue eyes… _Seto swallowed. This feeling. Was he ill? _No, my heart has begun…to stir… _He asked himself then what he already knew._ Do I know this woman?_

The fire. The blistering sand beneath his fingers. The screams of slave traders and townspeople alike. The torrent of burning air mixed in with the ash. _But wait…why had there been slave traders there? _The wave of unendurable heat. _**"MAMA!"**_ The Roar. The Dragon.

The Girl.

Slowly, shakily, controlling every joint in his body lest it just go loose now, he set himself on the ground by her bed. If he had not he would surely have collapsed on top of her. Instead, he stared blankly at nothing, one hand clamped over his mouth, his eyes wide, fighting back the impulse to be sick as the long suppressed memories of five years past crashed upon him afresh.

It had all been for her. He had lost everything that night… for this_… this very girl. _He chanced a glance at her. Whatever vague emotions he had been attempting to stifle earlier were now far beyond his control or comprehension. All he could do was sit shaking on the stone floor of her cell. What could he feel? Anger? But for this girl, his mother might still be alive, along with the score of other people of his village. Gratitude? But for this girl, he would not have survived the wrath of the slavers. Joy? But for this girl… this girl, who had been so precious to him upon first sight, when he was still young and new to this world…. He had long lost the ability to so quickly see through truths and lies. She… she was a relic of a time before he had lost… everything. He had believed in her. In one night, for one night, he had given her his trust, his aid, his…affection. That capacity to recognize and appreciate things for what they were, Seto had long lost. Yet she… she was still here.

_That's right… this woman… is from then…_ Swallowing did nothing for his parched throat. …And she had whispered his name. She remembered his name. _She is from then… as is the white dragon._ With a trembling hand he reached out and touched her un-bruised cheek. He clumsily scrambled to his knees for a better look at her, cupping his hand to her face with more ease. Gently, he turned her face more towards his. Her eyelids fluttered, but did not part. Her eyelashes were as white as her hair. What a curiosity. What a _beautiful _curiosity. She knew his name. Had recognized him after all these years. Yet he still did not know her name.

He could have laughed then. After all this, he still did not know what to call this apparition! His laugher caught in his breath.

With a soft sigh she pressed her face more firmly into his hand. Seto was certain his heart would burst from his chest. One white strand of hair fell from behind her ear to strewn across her face. Almost without thought Seto tucked it behind her ear. Again it took its unruly course. Seto… almost smiled.

And then frowned. He looked about the chamber. At the torches. At the stone cell bereft of all but this cot. At the bars. The guards. Once he had been her liberator.

Now he had become her captor.

_By the mercy of Ra, Lady of the White Dragon… _he thought, looking back to her sleeping face._ What have I done in bringing you here?_

Elsewhere in Palace compound an unearthly scream wrenched through the air, as the Thief King Bakura, having circumnavigated all of the defenses, took vengeance on his old acquaintance and Seto's mentor – Akhenaden.


	5. All Stands Fallen

**All Stands Fallen**

Duelist Kingdom

Part II

_Seto Kaiba: 18 years old_

_Kisara Pegasus: 15 years old_

…

Kisara gasped as she awoke. She blinked at the ceiling for a few moments, and then groaned as the pain, which had briefly left her in sleep, now returned to her in full force, as if it realized she would be able to now appreciate it, awake as she was.

She tossed her head to the side. Those rocks… so many of them… from everywhere… the sand in her mouth… The shouting!...They way they all leered at her… The water… She…They…Him…

Again she opened her eyes, and found herself staring at her own pale blue William Morris Wallpaper. She blinked. _Rocks?_ Had she been dreaming? _No… No…_ She had been attacked. Hurt. And then…She had woken up to find…

Barely daring to touch her torso, she fidgeted beneath the covers of her bed. As if in affirmation to her curiosity a shooting pain racked from her right shoulder, down to her left hip, and then coursed across her back, as if she wore a sash of pain. Kisara let out a gasp. The pain cleared her head a little. _What rocks?_ What delirium had she been in? This pain…This was…

Kisara swallowed. She had been walking up the stairs and then… She closed her eyes, and groaned softly to the empty room. Her bedroom. What was happening to her? She didn't know how long she lay there. How long she had lain there. The curtains were drawn. Her clock was on her bedside table, which would have been fine, had it not involved every muscle in her back for her to twist into position at which she would be able to see it. Delirious, pained, tried and confused, she wafted in and out of dreams and realities. _…But which are which?_

She didn't know how many hours she lay there. Hours? Days? It all blurred together. Why wasn't anyone coming? Why wasn't… _"…Seto…" _The moment the name was out of her mouth Kisara could have flinched with her own embarrassment. Where had that come from? She closed her eyes momentarily, trying to burn the shame out of her own mind. Why did she turn to him? So often to him? Was it because he had once saved her? Was it because he had refused to see her since? How many years was it now? Decades? Centuries?

_Millennia?_

Again she tried to clear her head of the fog. _What is happening to me?_ Whenever they two had been at the same parties… which had been a rare enough occurrences in and of itself… they had always somehow been at opposite ends of the Great Halls. And try and try as she would to wade through the crowd and get to him… She did not know if it was his wish, or if he unintentionally always slipped away from her. One way or another, she had come to a point where she felt ashamed, and silly. How often had she heard of the tirades of girls chasing after him in a similar fashion at balls and parties? Even on the streets?

She had told herself then that her affection was not of the sort that other young girls bequeathed. He had been her first friend. Her only friend. Her first… Kisara's lips tightened. For such a long time she had attempted to free herself from the pathetic state of 'having a crush,' by explaining to herself… that she had just and reasonable cause for her feelings. But she was fifteen now, and some insecurities had caught up to her. Rightly. She had come to see herself for the silly vain creature she really was. And in all honesty, who could ever truly like her? The sheer sight of her was enough to shock any man out of a romantic mood. She was small, thin, with little curvature at all and certainly none in the right places. Once starry-eyed, as she supposed all girls were, Kisara had given herself a rough awakening as to her appearance rather early on. It had not been hard. All she had had to do was take a good sound look in the mirror.

Even is Seto Kaiba had never intentionally avoided her, he had never intentionally sought her out either. And then there had been the Intercontinental Duel Monsters Tournament, a year ago. As if that hadn't been one of the most halting and uncomfortable experiences in her memory. What an idiot she had been then. No. He had saved her. And then abandoned her… to her dreams. She was such a weak little fool. Now her one consolation on the matter of Kaiba was that she never _had_ run into him again, and thus never managed to make any more of a fool of herself that she already had that day through the bars, so long ago.

_So long… ago…_

She was so tired. The pain had exhausted her, even in her moments of wakefulness. And she still didn't know what time it was or how long she had been there. Why had no one come? Indeed, why wasn't she in the hospital wing? Why… what was happening?

And Kisara dreamed. And in dreams, remembered. Again she was walking up that staircase, and again the pain rent through her. Only this time, she had time. Time, as she fell through the air, to feel all over again the pain as the flesh on her back was ripped, just between her shoulder blades – between the wings. Time, to hear the defining shatter of the scales on her back as they gnashed against each other, and splintered. Time, as what should have been a final attack, a final beam of white-hot lighting, smoked within her throat, and instead became a cry of pain. A cry of pain as large and great in size and agony as the creature from which it was torn. She fell.

Kisara recalled, in a half dazed state, as she was cared from the scene. As Croquet, her father's personal bodyguard, and her own longtime mentor, ran to her side as she was laid in her bed. Remembered – no, dreamed – how, as he held her hand. She convulsed in her bed, as the vision of three dragons swam before her eyes. Three dragons. No. Three mirrors. And in them, three dragons. All destroyed in one blast of power. The pain invaded her dreams.

As she fell back into the bed, so he fell down to his knees on the podium, staring at the place where his beloved dragons had been. Why had they failed him?

_Because of you! How could you expect me to protect you, three times over, after what you did to me mere moments before!? After you rent me in two!_

Kisara did not know what was dream and what was reality. It all swam before her eyes as one. And she drank it in. Her head tossed from side to side. Did she have a fever? All she knew was that everything was tinted with William Morris wallpaper…

She blinked. Her bedside lamp had been lit. Not only that, but something had been laid on her bed, judging by the weight on her blankets. She shifted, and let out a low hiss. The pain, again noting that its victim was properly awake, retuned with full force. She grit her teeth – _This is going to hurt_ – and wrenched her left arm out from underneath her covers, to fasten around whatever it was that had been left there.

Her jaw clenched, her eyes squeezed shut, Kisara's back arched involuntarily, as if it could so escape the pain. Her nostrils flared, and she exhaled loudly. For the second time she had to wonder that she had not been sent to the hospital wing. Almost delirious with the pain, she lifted the object to her eyes. And blinked.

It was a brace. It was made of firm plastic, mesh wire, and hospital cloth. An ordinary waist brace. But why was it here? And then a realization came to her. Kisara looked about her. Not only had her bedside light been turned on, but a tray of food had been placed upon it. She was not going to be sent to the hospital wing. She had been left here alone.

She was alone.

For a few moments the sheer shock and fear or such an idea paralyzed her. Kisara thought she would be physically sick. She closed her eyes, breathing erratically. And yet, with every breath came a stab of pain that reminded her of her condition. She could not be alone. Too long. Too often. Not now. Had it not been a shock… Had it been a way of life, as it had always been…. Then maybe… But this… She had been so certain that she was safe! So certain that all her trials were over! That she would never lose her family again!

Again?

Kisara opened her eyes, her mind attempting to catch up to her emotions. Again? Kisara had never had a family before Maximilian Pegasus. As a child she had been told that a clean-shaven man in a white turban and a cream colored gown had appeared at the doorsteps of the orphanage with a baby in his arms. Most curious about him, Kisara's supervisor had said, was the great, gold plated key he wore around his neck. Of course, she had laughed, it could not have been out of solid gold. To wear such a thing, and in public for no occasion, would have been ridiculous. However, he had not given his name when asked. He had, however, given the baby's.

Kisara.

Beside this vague description Kisara, now almost fifteen years down the road of life, had not the vaguest idea of a family. Because of her strange appearance she had never been adopted. Even when searching parents had addressed her they had always found reason to move on to another child quickly. Kisara never blamed them. How could she? Apart from her strange appearance of long white hair and almost unnaturally light blue eyes, Kisara soon became aware that even her outlook and manner of speech was somewhat different from that of other children. She was strange and unpopular. Alongside the physical bullying that accompanied them, such notions only contributed to her quiet nature, her outward sullenness, and the strangeness of which she was accused.

Until he had come. Kisara had, once again, snuck out of lunch early. This would give her a chance to climb into one of the three trees on the playground, and hide from the other children. A strange observation, but a very useful one, was that people very rarely looked up. And Kisara, who had always been slender and small, could climb to the nie-top of the trees, and remain hidden until the bell rang. It was when, her hands already reaching for the first branch, she had looked about to make certain that none of the councilors had seen her–

–she saw him.

Standing tall, hardly blinking, next to that limousine that appeared so shiny, he looked absolutely miserable. She knew. She recognized it in herself. No child should have to look so strong as he did. In that very strength, unyielding, he betrayed himself. She stepped away from the tree. She walked towards him, completely without the usual fear and agitation with which she normally approached other children.

She reached the bars, and wrapped her hands around them. "Hey," she called out quietly, sucking in her lower lip which an older boy had broken on her only a day earlier when he had shoved her face into a wall.

And when the boy by the limousine looked up at her, Kisara knew for certain: _His scowl was just as hollow as her smile. For inside, they were both screaming in pain._

Again Kisara blinked at the William Morris wallpaper. But… why was this all coming back to her now? And why did she feel such… such fear? Even now she could see her own hand – the one which held the corset – trembling. Why did she fear for her safety now? And why did she fear for her family? The family she had now had for six full years! And why was the pain at the thought so acute that it brought tears to her eyes, as if she was all too familiar with such a pain. Surly, while Kisara had gone through many trials at the orphanage, she could at lease claim that she was one orphan that could not remember being orphaned.

She blinked, and the tears rolled down her cheeks.

And her vision blurred. For only a moment, but it was long enough. Yes, for only a moment, the William Morris disappeared completely. For only a moment, she was looking up at the stone ceiling of a one window room, with flickering torch fire serving as light. Kisara convulsed. Gasped. How had she gotten here? All she'd wanted was a drink of water!

Wait…what? Blink. William Morris. There was absolutely stillness in the room. Kisara did not dare blink. _What had happened to her on that staircase?_ That was it. She needed to know. But to whom could she go? Her father? No. Something told her No. …Then she would just have to go to her father, without going to him. She smiled. _This is going to hurt. _

A sigh. A tightening of the jaw. An intake of breath. She wrenched herself from the bed.

…

Mokuba knocked on the double doors of his brother's office, calling through them, "Seto, you've got to leave now if you're gonna make the boat for the big tournament at Duelist Kingdom!" No answer. He was getting worried. "Seto, open the door!" The doors gave automatically. He watched them open. "Ah…"

Seto was sitting at his desk, with no sign of moving and no sign of being packed. He was… just sitting there, his briefcase of cards open, himself just fretfully shuffling and reshuffling his deck. He looked unnerved. It was unnerving to see. "…Seto?"

"I'm not going Mokuba."

Mokuba didn't, couldn't, even let that phrase sink in. "Not going?! Why not?!"

"_There's no point!"_ And Seto tossed, actually tossed, his deck onto the table. The cards scattered. Everywhere.

"…What do you mean no point?" This wasn't Seto.

Seto closed his eyes. He was… shaking. "Kid, I am in no condition to duel anyone." Something was wrong. It was as if… as if he'd done something. Something terrible. But this was Seto! No matter the costs, he never regretted anything. And yet… He looked as if… Something was very wrong.

"What are you talking about?!" He had to snap him out of it. Mokuba had to snap Seto out of it. Whatever 'it' was. "You always say: Cards are Power! And you've got all the strongest cards!" Remember? Remember how unrelenting you are? This… this was just weird. Frightening.

And Mokuba could tell that he wasn't the only one that was frightened.

"…Since I lost my duel with Yugi, I just don't know what I think anymore. Everything's different. It feels as if I lost a piece of_ myself_ that day!" He almost chocked on the words. His eyes went wide. It almost looked as if he was about to have a fit.

…A piece of himself? What was Seto talking about? He… He was here. In one piece. And it had been a card game. Sure, Seto believed that the cards had power. But a part of himself? That almost sounded like something Yugi would say. What… what had Seto lost?

"…But Seto, you're the best! You're the champ!"

Seto rose from his seat, and pulled a card from inside his trench coat. He seemed delirious. Sick even. "Not since the day I was defeated by Yugi," he said, his eyes fixed on the card. "Here Mokuba," a flick of the wrist. Mokuba caught the card deftly "I'm going away for a while," Seto went on. "I don't know how long I'll be gone. Keep this. It was always your favorite." He hardly even looked at it. It didn't matter. What mattered was that something was very, very wrong with Seto…

"Why? Why are you leaving?" They had never been apart. Never. Not even the orphanage had been able to separate them. _What part of you did you lose?_ He was scared. They were both scared. Mokuba could see it as he looked up into his older brother's eyes.

His eyes… which barely saw him. "Because I don't know who I am anymore," Seto answered distractedly. And that was that. He just walked out the door with a final, "Take care kid." No way of reaching him. No explanation. Just that briefcase in one hand, and the clothes on his back. The CEO of KaibaCorp just… excused himself.

"Seto, don't go!" Mokuba reached out his hand, just as the door shut. "…oh…"

…

She stood in the library. It was dark, musty, and oak paneled. There _were_ paintings on the walls, but it was too dark too see them properly. Too dark for a library. Kisara had never understood it. Sometimes she had wondered if her father had not wanted surplus lights _because _he didn't want the paining exhibited. There was such a wealth of knowledge here. Old volumes gathered through the generations, brought here by the Pegasus patriarchs over the years – she could always feel the pedigree of her father's family when she stepped into this room. Perhaps that was the reason that, despite her enjoyment of reading, she rarely did step into this room. The pedigree, firm, strong, confidant… it wasn't hers. She stood out like a white blotch against the dark mahogany, oak, and leather. Indeed, considering her father's humor, it was the most austere room in the house. Even he could not go so far as to completely dance over this shrine of his forefathers. Though he had, not so much changed, but added some things. His own touch, as it were. Alongside the massive stuffed heads that hung along what little wall was not covered by bookshelves, and standing side by side the great stuffed grizzlies in the corners – were duel monster statues.

Looking up at the great-antlered buck over the fireplace – which she doubted was lit even in winter, let alone this springtime warmth – Kisara couldn't help but think that he seemed rather glad of the company of the curled-up stone Guardian of the Fortress that was nestled atop the massive fireplace itself, looking up at his head-of-a-friend.

And one other thing had changed since Maximillion Pegasus had taken up ownership of his family estate on this quaint little island just off the west shore of the United States of America – The Egyptian Collection.

"_Kisara…"_

Kisara wiped around. A shiver ran down her spine as pain shot up it. She gripped at her hips. "Ah!" The gasp seemed to fill the entire room. The moment was broken. She panted, took a deep breath, and straightened up as best she could. Her waist was strapped tight with the brace. She could move. But how long it would be until she could _move…_ she couldn't say.

Kisara looked about herself, into the darkness in the room, everything there telling her – _you shouldn't be here. You're not a Pegasus. Not really._ She swallowed. She was scared. She was genuinely scared. She had been scared getting up, scared of the pain. Scared of leaving her room, almost as if she had expected someone to stop her. To question her. To hurt her, as they had in the orphanage. To lock her up. She could take it then. She had expected it then. She… she didn't know if she could take it now. She was scared of this room. But most of all… most of all… she was scared of…

Kisara blinked. Somehow, in a daze, she had managed to place herself in front of the towering south wall that housed the bulk of her father's literary collection on Egypt, accumulated during his own travels and research.

And then the idiocy of what she was doing hit her like a ton of bricks. What? What on earth was she thinking? There… there was nothing to it! And, and if she went now to her father and explained to him how hurt she had gotten, he would ship her off to the best hospital in LA without a second thought. Yes. She was making something out of absolutely nothing. There… there was nothing to it…

Kisara swallowed. _And tasted sand._

With that, she took a book of the shelf. _I suppose I have to begin somewhere…._She walked over to one of the great windows that spanned up twenty feet, shoved open one of the moth eaten curtain, and let the light strewn in.

…

It was a small house by the shore. It would do. No one would ever look for him here. From the outside, it looked like a very lovely, two story upper-middleclass dwelling overlooking the sheer cliff to the ocean and the rocky shoals bellow. Inside, however, instead of the retired fishing couple and the five cats, there were wires everywhere.

And all of it, for the first week of its occupation, remained untouched. The occupant, so recently arrived, just spent his days by the window, staring out at the waves. Comatose. That was the only way one could describe the state that the young man was in. Had he committed himself as opposed to hidden himself, there is absolutely no doubt that he'd have been placed in a wheelchair by the third day of his isolation. He did not eat. He did not sleep. His eyes, deep blue as they were, seemed to turn grey and lose more and more of their color with each passing hour. His breath was raged. It almost seemed as though he'd wither away just as he sat. With no fight against the course that nature would take unless he rose to some action or another.

Then…after one such day… sleep finally took him. Though, in all honestly, the difference between wakefulness and sleep for him were hardly noticeable. Accept for the dreams. The dreams made the difference. In the dreams… _"Seto, don't go!" Mokuba's voice… and another's… "don't…" Whose voice was that? He was so sure that he knew it… "Seto!"_

The young man jolted awake in his seat. It was pitch dark, both outside and in the house. The only sounds were of the waves, and the quiet humming of machinery. He blinked a few times, staring at nothing in particular. How long had he been sitting here? He mopped a hand over his face, settling his fingers to pitch the rim of his noise. Too long. Too long he'd spent in this comatose state. His mind, shattered for such a while, suddenly seemed clear again. He took a steadying breath, and hauled himself out of the armchair.

He knew what he had to do now.

The next morning there, at the desk, sat Seto Kaiba at a desk in an office that overlooked a window that itself overlooked the ocean, the cliff, and the rocks bellow. The young man looked far worse for ware than he had ever allowed himself to be seen before. His usually immaculate attire of green and dark blue trench coat and dark green colored shirt looked crumpled on him. His usually skylike blue eyes were dulled and needing sleep. And his usually steady hands were still shaking just a little.

_Ah! It's no use!_ The pintsized screwdriver almost slipped out of his hands. _I've gone over it a dozen times in my mind, but I still can't figure it out! How was a kid who came out of nowhere able to defeat a champion like me!? _He chanced a glance away from his latest invention, to the endless number of files on web that he had surrounded himself with over the last few days. _I've run computer simulations, probability scenarios, and quantum analyses of our duel, but I still don't have the answer. _He narrowed his eyes, trying to concentrate. _I had clearly been dominating the match. My Blue-Eyes White Dragon ripped through his forces…. _

Kaiba blinked. Damn. He'd slipped. Gently, lovingly, he removed the tarnished wire, and replaced it, his long fingers flying across the machinery that he knew so well. His mind almost immediately fell back to its trail of thought._… I was on the verge of winning! …But Yugi wouldn't give up. Against all odds, and with absolute faith in his grandfather's deck, he somehow drew the one card that assured his victory!_

He took a breath, reliving the moment. All three dragons… He shuddered invisibly. _I had always believed that Duel Monsters was a game of sheer power, but Yugi claims that the cards have a heart. _Immediately, his mind was drawn to his own beloved Blue-Eyes. Blue…eyes… a smile, through the bars. He swallowed. Paused in his work. Continued.

_It sounds crazy, I know. But could Yugi be right? Is there really a heart of the cards that can affect the outcome of a duel? Is that how he won?_ …that smile… _The only way I'll know for sure is to face Yugi again. And these new portable holo-generators will enable me to challenge him no matter where I find him._

He screwed the metal plate over the wire-belly. Done. He glanced over the two circular contraptions that he had been laboring over. Done. …and not a moment too soon. He could hear footsteps outside the door.

So much for no one finding him here.

_If I could just get to…_

There was a loud knock on the door. No, not the front door. The door to his office. Well, whoever it was, they were confident that he would never sue them for trespassing. That was encouraging. "Seto Kaiba!" slam, slam, "We know you're in there! Open the door or we'll break it down!" The door buckled on its hinges. Calmly, Kaiba packed first one and then the other holo-generator into his suitcase, which he had lined appropriately. He would have to carry his deck in his coat pocket. Which reminded him-

SLAM.

"Let's go, Kaiba."

…

SLAM.

The book fell to the floor. Kisara sat in the dark leather chair, her hands still holding the phantom of the aged book which was now flat on the ground. Her fingers were shaking. Her mouth was dry. She closed her eyes.

"Oh my god."

What… what was this? She… she could read. She could read the hieroglyphs. No, not the neat little English words filed into paragraphs, which were accompanied by pictures of hieroglyphs. The hieroglyphs themselves. Was the pressure getting to her? Had the pain in her torso twisted up her spine and into her mind? _What was going on?!_

Over the last few hours Kisara had become more and more methodical. Her father had many books on Egypt. And why not? His fortune had been made in a game that started in Ancient Egypt – Duel Monsters. It had originated at some point… though really at the beginning of time. From what she read Kisara couldn't actually get a date or even a rough estimate for when it came into play. It seemed that it was as old as Egypt itself. Funny… Despite, or rather, perhaps because her father had been the game's creator, Kisara herself had never mastered or even taken great interest in it. She did not have a knack for the rules. And while she could follow who was winning or losing by the amount of life points they had, or whether someone had played a particularly cleaver move because of the cheers and cry of admiration it evoked from those around her in the audience, she was no pretend-champion herself. No. As with her appearance, Kisara had come to terms very early on that she was a very little scrawny girl who, by some strange chance of fate, had been thrust into a far more glamorous world that she was fit for.

But no, Duel Monsters had no definite beginning. The power of this… Shadow Realm… spanned as far back as Egypt itself. It was quarried along with the stone that made the pyramids. It was molding into building blocks, however, at a _very _distinct time in Egyptian history. Distinct, because of how little evidence there remained of it – the time of a nameless Pharaoh.

And now she came to details.

Kisara swallowed. Took a deep breath, and picked the book up again. And to think, all these years, all it had needed was a push… She looked back up at that south wall. How many books had she already pulled from their shelves? How many more would it take to remember… everything.

She let out a shuddering breath. Everything? What was she saying? She… she couldn't really have two pasts… could she? Her grip tightened on the book.

…

Her grip tightened around his waist as the horse moved beneath them. She pressed her face into his back and breathed in deeply. How could this be? How could he be here? _I don't understand._ And, after everything she had been through, she didn't think she wanted to understand. Wasn't it enough that he was here? For her? That they were both here, and safe. That with him she was…

"The next metropolises is dead ahead! Just follow that constellation, The Soul of Osiris!" His muscles shifted beneath her touch as he pointed. She didn't even look. _No. Don't leave me._ "Then make your way back to your own country!" A shudder wracked her body, and it had little to do with either the cold, or the movement of the horse. All of a sudden, she was wide awake.

Of course. What was she thinking. Did she was the same fate to befall this boy as had befallen _him?_ Did she was to bring a curse on him, as she had the others? No. No. For his sake… hesitantly, stiffly, her limbs still sore from their stagnancy in the cage, she braced to let him go. However, first, she simply couldn't help herself. She leaned in close to his ear one last time, "What is your name?" He fell away from her, and she did not hear him hit the sand. An eon passed. Had he not heard? Surly… surly she couldn't leave without hearing his name! …Not that it really mattered. She knew by what name to call that face. His name was-

"Seto!" reached her ear against the hammering of hooves. "SETO!" broke the night.

Kisara smiled, as her hair whipped out behind her. _So… your name is Seto…_ She twisted in the saddle and, unseeing, waved back into the darkness, "Thank you, Seto! I promise, I will return the favor! Thank you!"

…

Her fingers shuddering once again, she stood in front of the bookshelf – full once more. Gently, gingerly, Kisara wrapped her arms around herself, and laid her hands on her shoulder, and her hip, remembering with what ease she had twisted in that saddle. _And I did… I did return the favor. I… I'm not yet sure how, but I did._ Which could only mean… _Dear god, _she closed her eyes as another shot of pain wracked through her. _You… it was __**you**__ that did this to me._

…

Calmly, he bolted the suitcase shut, and turned in his office chair. Thugs. Two of them.

"On your feet."

Of course, they_ both_ needed to get a word in. It wouldn't do for just _one_ of them to tell him what to do.

"Mr. Pegasus," sneered the smaller, greasier one over his gun, which he was currently pointing directly at Kaiba's chest, "would like to have a few words with you." Translation: come with us quietly so that we can shoot you deep in the forest surrounding this isolated house which you, in your infinite consideration, picked out yourself.

Kaiba smirked and got up to stare down the barrels of the two guns. "Huh. I bet he would. But it'll take more than you two goons to grab me." Seto Kaiba, age eighteen, had seen much worse in a corporate office than either of these middle-aged losers could ever offer up to him.

The greasy one growled. "This can go easy, or we can snap you in two wise guy-"

"_You'll never take me alive!"_ Kaiba slammed his foot into the office chair with enough force to send it careening into the two men. A gun fired. He deftly blocked his head with the bulletproof suitcase. He heard the bullet ricochet off. And just as deftly, threw himself out his office window, down that very sheer cliff aforementioned.

…Why? What a stupid thing to say. 'You'll never take me alive.' As if they had any intention to. Why? Why had he… lost his cool like that. He… he was half way plummeting down the cliff, the wind snapping at his hair and coat before Kaiba even realized that he'd left his deck in the office. Damn. Just as deftly, his hand wiped out and caught an outcropping. The stop wrenched his whole body, but he held.

…It was the mention of being snapped in two.

That was what had gotten him. Who… why did he have to say that? As if anyone would _actually _snap someone else in two. Here. Now. Again… _those blue eyes. …That smile_.

The pain registered in his arm. The spray from the sea bellow swept over him. Kaiba's mind caught up to his body. He looked up. He couldn't see his office window from here. _Good._ He looked down. The rocks that shot out of the water in the shallows were unforgiving, and everywhere. _They'll think I died in the fall without a doubt. _He hung there a while longer, waiting for them to leave. Then, after enough time had elapsed…

_This is going to hurt._ He gritted his teeth, and swung his briefcase onto the flat of the ledge. Then, trying to ignore as best he could the rock biting into his skin and the trail of blood making its way down his wrist, he hauled himself onto that same ledge, staggered, and stood.

He looked up now to where he knew his house was. He still had a long climb ahead of him. He was rather certain that his deck would not still be waiting for him at the end of it and, judging from what Genius 1 and Genius 2 had said, Maximillion Pegasus was at the bottom of this.

His lip curled. Ever since the two had entered into a partnership a year ago in New York, Kaiba had sensed that Pegasus was theat. This however, was unprecedented. To attempt a murder on the CEO of a partner company… Something was driving him. What had they promised? Money? Surely the CEO of Industrial Illusions had enough of that. And how was he planning this takeover? As per the corporate bylaws only a Kaiba could legally be at the head of…

Mokuba.

Kaiba's mouth went very dry. The crashing of the waves went mute in his ear. The only sound was the drip, drip, drip of the blood running down his clenched fist, and falling onto the handle of his bullet-proof suitcase.

…

"Well, well, well. You're awake!" Pegasus exclaimed with seeming genuine amusement as he tucked into his desert. "And you're walking too!"

"Yes," Kisara answered without raising her voice. "I have been for some days now." She was confident that, though she was leaning against the doorframe at one end of the dining hall, her father would hear her quite adequately from the other end, seated as he was at so long a table.

How much did he know?

"And spending time the library, to be precise," Pegasus said, washing down the phrase with a glass of wine. She said nothing. He swallowed. "So, what have you learned?"

So, he was wondering the same thing as she. How ironic.

Kisara blinked across the room at him, her face betraying nothing. "Learned? Nothing." _Remembered? …a little._

"I am curious, as to what prompted this sudden studiousness on your part."

"I am my father's daughter. Questions are answered by research."

Pegasus's fork paused on the way to his mouth. The tiramisu quivered in place. He looked up at her and, for a moment, he seemed to stop laughing. Not that she minded. The laughter in his eyes was no longer as it had been. It had become a cold, chilled laughter. "What do you know?"

Again, no answer. Pegasus set his fork down, and touched his left hand below his bangs, to where Kisara could not see, but the contents to which she knew too well. The Millennium Eye. One of what? Seven? Millennium Items. That much at least he himself had told her about in bed-time stories. As for the rest…It could not be said she was not a fast learner. Learner? No. Perhaps a better term would be… Rememberer….

"Kisara, _what do you know?"_ Again, nothing. A moment passed. He held his hand to his Eye.

And the same realization came to them at the same time. Pegasus's face darkened.

"…I see." Once again, he picked up his fork.

Never had the silence been so thick between them as it was now. And then, it was broken. A door opened, footsteps were heard. Who was disturbing them? The attendants knew to stay out until Pegasus was done eating, and Croquet was standing stiff and sullen in the shadows behind Pegasus's shoulder – his usual place.

Before Kisara could turn, a man came alongside her in the doorway. She looked up at him but he, dark glasses still on even though he was not only indoors but night had fallen some time ago, had eyes only for her father, to whom he looked across the dining hall. She realized who he was almost immediately. Who could forget that ridiculous head of brown hair, gelled to a point. It was- oh, what was his name? Kemo. One of Seto Kaiba's bodyguards.

_Seto Kaiba…_ A name that now churned her stomach.

She opened her mouth to ask what he was doing here, in the Pegasus house, on Duelist Kingdom, when somehow, she found it incapable to close her mouth at all – let alone speak. All this observation happened in just a moment, for in the next, her eyes focused on what the man was caring over his shoulder.

Draped over the big man's shoulder, was a small boy. A great mop of raven black hair hid his face, but there was only one little boy it could be. There was only one little boy with hair like that that her father could possibly be interested in. Mokuba Kaiba. …Kaiba's younger brother. Kaiba's younger brother was draped over this man's shoulder, unconscious, in her home.

Slowly…. Kisara turned her head back to look at her father. She, who rarely showed emotions above slight surprise or gentle amusement, knew her face must now be shining forth nothing short of abject horror. Kidnapper? Her father was a kidnapper?

_Was this… is this all part of the reason that you did not send me to the hospital?_ Though she knew now who was responsible for her injuries, Kisara could not help but think, _Was it so convenient for you that I was rendered immobile?_

And then she remembered – of course. It must have been.

Her father smiled and leaned back in his chair. "Ah," he addressed Kemo, "at last." He beckoned the man and, as he himself got up, he turned his attention on her one last time. "You are good, Kisara. But I always knew that. You are so mild, and so quiet. It really is a mercy that you do not realize your own power. If you did, I'm very much afraid that the gods themselves would bow to you. However, you do _not. _And you are the better for it. Go back, my little Kisara. Go back to that charmed little world you have enjoyed for the past few years – that world of parties and _flying._ After so much pain, surly you know better than to invite it back upon yourself?"

He was threatening her. As she stood there, a great dining hall away from him, and looked into the smile of the only father she had ever know, Kisara knew that he was threatening her. She? Powerful? Alone, in pain, and confronted so by her father, she had never felt more weak in her life.

Then again… she could not account for all of her life yet, could she?

"There is, of course, the irony, in that which we do not know. Isn't there?" Her father wiped his mouth with a napkin before folding it meticulously. A shiver ran down Kisara's spine. Her stare fixed on the Eye which she could not see beneath his silver hair. Then his eye – his flesh eye – met hers. She did not lower her gaze. "The irony," he broke off, looking to the inner long wall of the dining hall, "of what we cannot know." She followed his eye to two paintings. Now that she thought about it, these were the only two paintings her father had done that she had ever gotten a good look at. They held well lit places of honor in their lives – greeting her as she came to dine here every day, day in and day out. "And it is quite ironic, that even the brightest minds – such as yours, my dear – are blind to what they know, when it may endanger their own protection…"

What could he mean? Kisara looked to the paintings. One was of Cecelia, her father's love. Beatiful, blond curles cascading over her shoulders. Angelic face. Kisara had wondered more than once if Cecelia had truly been as beautiful as her father had painted her here. Well, she_ had_ been to him and, Kisara supposed, that was all that mattered in the end. The reason her father had never gotten married. The reason he had never had children of his own.

The other… actually she had never learned who the subject of the other painting was. Just an exotic gentleman that her father had painted in Egypt, the way Joseph Lindon Smith had painted men and scenes of Egypt. In this portrait there was no question of realism. Her father had captured every fold of the cloth of his turban. The ruddiness of his face. Everything about him was quite…

She blinked. Clean shaven. A white turban on his head. A cream colored gown. And a great, golden Key around his neck. The Millennium Key. Kisara's lips parted infinitesimally. For despite the realism of the painting, the man's eyes _had no living soul in them._ She saw that now.

"…No."

"Oh yes, my dear." Her father sneered as he looked from portrait to child. "And I assure you, by my vanity as a painter, it is an accurate depiction. He is the same. The same man who, your caretaker told me, left you on the doorsteps of that orphanage and revealed to you your name– I knew the same man, from some years before. Thus my hunch as to who you were when I heard of you was proven accurate upon meeting you. You are," he smiled, _"Kisara."_

She stared at the painting. This was the man? A face to a name she did not even know…

"_You're out of your depth, child."_ The words fell like a rock into the pit of her stomach. "Forget. And think. Why would you want to remember? To help him?" her father tossed his head in the direction of Kemo, who had taken a stand by Croquet, with Mokuba Kaiba still draped over his shoulder. "For him, when his brother did _this _to you? Oh yes, I know all about it. You know how it happened, my dear? Hm? _He tore it in half._ Yes. Your gift. Do you even know what your gift to him was? No? Well then, let us be more blunt – _your soul._ Yes. _He tore your soul without a care." _

Her father chuckled. Actually chuckled. And it rumbled through the room. The chair scraped as he finally got out from behind the table, and moved to leave the room. "Oh, and whatever promises he made you the day he met you at your orphanage, you would be well served… to forget them as well," he called back in farewell. "It's not like they are worth anything now."

The door slammed shut.


	6. Just a Little Girl

**Just a Little Girl**

Duelist Kingdom

Prologue

_Seto Kaiba: 17_

_Kisara Pegasus: 14_

…

A year later Seto Kaiba would wonder if Maximillion Pegasus had not invited him personally to the Intercontinental Duel Monsters Tournament as a demonstration of the older man's power. If, seeing that Kaiba had just relatively recently taken over his father's company, and the ever going battle he now faced in transforming that company from one of war machines to one for children's enjoyment, Pegasus had even then picked him out as a victim. Or if, as a new and rising competitor in the entertainment industry, Pegasus had not decided to put the young man in his place – a demonstration of power. Actually… no. Seto did not wonder. He knew that this was the case.

Well, what Seto Kaiba saw that day in the arena between the creator of duel monsters and Bandit Keith did not frighten him. It cautioned him.

It wasn't a duel. It was an embarrassment. A nationwide embarrassment. Somehow – and Seto still could not quite under how, even a year later – Pegasus had been able to predict every single movement of his opponent. And "Bandit" Keith Howard, a man whose well toned and scruffy appearance made him look somewhat formidable, went to pieces in front of the entire arena of people. He had been champion of Kaiba-didn't-know-how-many tournaments in America. He had been called "a representation of America's strength in the Game of Life," according to _New York_ magazine. And, by the time Pegasus was done with him, he was on his hands and knees, his deck having spilled through his fingers, crushed.

Kaiba had watched as Pegasus wrote some notes down on a piece of paper that he must have prepared for the purpose beforehand, and called a boy over from the crowd. Voices broke out in mutters across the entire stadium. What was happening? Bandit Keith objection rose above all the rest. "What do you think you're doing?! Asking for help's illegal!"

Pegasus rose with grace from his seat, undaunted. "I don't need help," he answered haughtily, brushing his red suit down of wrinkles. "A child could defeat you, er, _Bandit _Keith. And I'm going to prove it." It was smug. It was daring. It was insulting beyond words.

Pegasus then left the center stage, actually left it, and went to sit in the empty seat next to Seto. It was all Seto could do to stare. Pegasus smiled at him, notably looking up and down at the school uniform that he had chosen to wear to the event. Seto's eyes narrowed, daring Pegasus to comment on his youth. Wearing this uniform was a statement of his own: _just try and underestimate me. _Instead, Pegasus said, turning back to the spectacle before them, "I hope you are enjoying the tournament so far, even though it must seem so crude to you, unlike the holographic dueling stations KaibaCorp is developing."

Before Seto could answer, the boy had done it. Keith lay down one card, the boy glanced at the paper, lay down his own card – and the match was over. Seto watched in un-disguisable shock as the crowd was raised to its feet by the sheer sensationalism of the event, as Pegasus returned to the center of the stage and raised "Sam's" hand, and declared him the winner, and as Keith slid from his chair to the ground, his deck skidding across the floor.

It was a show of strength. And it was made just for him, Kaiba. What Pegasus could do to Keith, he could do to anyone. That was the message Seto Kaiba was meant to walk away with. And he took note.

…

Standing at the gala only a short while later, Seto's ears were still ringing with the din of, _"Sam is the winner!"_ And he knew that that which was on his mind was one everyone else's. How? How had Pegasus done it? Seto looked up from his glass of water. He was yet too young to drink, officially. And to have taken any sort of fizzy drink would have seemed much too childish. Wearing a uniform was a statement. Drinking Coca-Cola was not. Water was unassuming enough. His eyes darted across the crowd before him. They were the usual. Competitors and honored guests had been invited here today. Many of the men wore rented suits. The women's fake diamonds caught the light of the chandelier. The heated roar of the stadium had been replaced with the room-temperature murmur of rumors and clinking glasses. Bandit Keith was nowhere in to be found. Gossip had it that he was drinking away his sorrows in a hole-in-the-wall somewhere, completely broken.

Seto wondered… How many of the painted peacocks in this room were already under Pegasus's power, whether through fear or money? Chances were, he and Keith were a few of the diehards. Keith because he was too stupid to know better. Seto, because he was too clever to know better…

He took a sip of water. Clapping swept over the crowd. Seto looked to the main entrance, and there was the victor of the Tournament, soaking it up for all it was worth, waving with one arm while on the other he had-

Ah. Yes. Of course. That had been one of the more…minor… things that had, for a moment, made Seto Kaiba hesitate in the taking of Kaiba Corp from the making of weaponry to that of trading cards. It was a small world, at the top. And he intended to go to the top. But at the top… it was a world she was part of. It was a world _he_ had made her part of. He took another sip of water, his eyes fixed.

The party progressed. The humming returned. Pegasus was of course swarmed by well wishers and congratulators, all lining up patiently to kiss his ass. She stayed by his side, at least at first. Then, Seto watched as, with a discreet kiss to her surrogate father's cheek, she gently slipped her arm out of his, and made her way to the drinks table. He, Seto, had no need to talk to any of these people here. Most of them were duelists that had been defeated in the later rounds of the tournament – useless. Or were honorable guests – even more useless. What guests there were, they had only been brought here to be intimidated. No, Seto was here to see Pegasus, and Pegasus alone. And he would be damned if he would be swept up in the rest of this crowd.

The man at the bar gave her a glass of sparkling water, and a dish with half a lemon on it, cut down the center. She took the lemon, and squeezed the juice into the glass, then put it back onto the dish, the barman took it, and she seemed to thank him. All this time she stood with her back to Seto, and came in and out of sight as people walked the great distance between them.

She had grown. Of course, he had caught glimpses over her over the years. Yet now, with the two of them in the same business… Not that they were, really. She was a child, adopted child, of a businessman. And though he had started out the same, he was a businessman himself now. No, there was nothing similar about them now….

She was dressed in a demure, deep blue dress. Her shoulders, through seemingly sleeveless, she had draped with a thick white shawl that almost seemed too adult for her narrow frame. She wore flats, and her hair had been done up into a neat bun.

No high heels, no jewelry, no flourishes whatsoever. Seto was seventeen years old now. He had had girls. No- women. And enough of them. And now, looking at her as she took that glass in hand to bring it up for a drink, he knew for certain, with all the contempt of the three years that separated then, that she was_ just a little girl._

She turned, their eyes met, and his mouth went dry.

Those eyes. How could he have forgotten. Then again, how could he have remembered? One could not capture that sort of thing in a photograph. To her face, her figure, and her attire, still clung all the trappings of a fourteen year old girl. But in her eyes there was an… understanding. A vulnerability that seemed as though it had been a part of her longer than she could possibly have been alive. There was eagerness, and hunger, and strength and, glazed over all of it, a reserve that smothered all the rest and seemed to keep all in check. It was not inhuman. It was all too human. It was something he understood all too well.

For the second time he saw himself in her eyes, and hated it. She smiled a thin-lipped smile, raised her glass as if to toast him and, wish a sip, broke the eye contact.

He tried to swallow. His mouth was still dry. Almost as if it was coated by sand. He blinked, and drained his glass. "KAIBA-BOY!" An arm clamped down on his shoulder, and Seto nearly spewed out the water he had not yet swallowed. "I am _so_ happy you could make it!" Seto looked up, into the face of Maximillion Pegasus, the man of the hour. He looked positively gleeful with victory, a large glass of red wine in the hand that wasn't clamped on Seto's shoulder.

Seto fixed his gaze on the one eye he could see behind that mane of silver hair. "Yes. You said it would be worth my while," he said flatly.

Pegasus burst into giggles. "Of course, of course! Heaven forbid the great Seto Kaiba travels to America, simply to celebrate a victory with his fellow in arms!" Fellows in arms? _Interesting choice of words._

"You didn't know when you extended the invitation that it would_ be_ a victory."

"Oh," Pegasus said, much more quietly and smoothly and, for a moment, Seto felt quite certain that he had the attention of both the man's eyes, "didn't I?" Silence. Then, with a final clap on his shoulder, Pegasus proclaimed loudly, "Business! I want to talk business with you! Can you imagine how much more fun it would have been out there on that stage, if they had been actual holograms, instead of a silly table?! Of course you can! You invented it, didn't you? Cleaver boy! However, business can wait till tomorrow. For now, enjoy yourself. Oh, and if you want a glass of wine, please go ahead. No one's standing on ceremony here, and what I say goes."

Seto's mind was reeling at lightning speed. Of course he had been hoping for some sort of proposition from the creator of Duel Monsters, but this seemed as though it would be on a much larger scale. Almost a merger? Well, if that, he would have to call up his lawyers as soon as he got out of this dive. When would Pegasus want to meet? Tomorrow? The blood was pulsing in Seto's ears until-

"You've met my daughter, Kisara, haven't you?"

Pop.

"Kisara! _Youuuwhoo!_ Angel-face!" With no show of bashfulness whatsoever, Pegasus flailed his arm across the sea of heads. It was easy enough to spot her. Who could mistake that mop of white hair, as she turned to look at them both? It was then that Seto knew he had to fortify himself against her. As she made her way through the crowd towards her father, with her every step, Seto's back straightened, and his jawline set.

And then they were standing in front of each other, for the first time in five years. The time seemed eons. How long had he looked to this reunion? _Centuries. What? No…_

Neither spoke. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. His eyes darted to her lips. Her eyes darted to the blue collar of his uniform… and that was the final straw. Seto looked to Pegasus and said curtly, "Please, be in touch. I'm interested in this 'business' that you want to talk." He gave her a nod, hardly looking at her, turned, and left.

Seto firmly set the glass down on a _hors d'oeuvre_ table as he walked out the door, numbly accepted his jacket in exchange for the ticket at the coat exchange, and stood in the cool night air as he waited for his limousine outside the stadium, where both the tournament and the gala had been held.

As he slid into the backseat, for a moment, he wondered what it was Kisara would have said to him. What it was she could have said, after five years. …_Five thousand..._ He blinked. Perhaps nothing. Probably nothing. She was as mute as he. He knew. They were the same. No, not the same. Never the same. He had made something of himself. He was strong.

…He had run away.

…

The deal was done in a week. Seto wanted this deal. He was young. He was up and coming. He was hungry. His one flaw in business, as he later learned, was that his hunger could cloud his caution. An alliance with the creator of Duel Monsters would give him the stability in this new field that he needed if the company was to successfully transfer from machinery to playing cards. Seto shook hands with Maximillion Pegasus over a model of the hologram-built-in arena, and the deal was done. Industrial Illusions got the holograms. Kaiba Corp. was given free reign with all things Duel Monster related. No where during that week did he see any sign of that girl. Not that he looked.

His suitcase was packed, all papers filed away, and he flew back to Japan, without a second glance. He knew this wouldn't last. He knew that there was no room at the top for two companies. And he knew that Pegasus would not have let him have as much power if he did not think he could control him. He also knew his own capabilities.

What he did not know was where he would be this time in a year. He knew his own capabilities. What he did not know- what neither he nor Pegasus knew- were hers.

…

**Illustration of their moment of interaction in this chapter can be found on my Profile Page.**


	7. Poisoned Promises

**Poisoned Promises**

Duelist Kingdom

Part III

_Seto Kaiba: 18_

_Kisara Pegasus: 15_

…

Kisara stood in the niche of a hallway, nestled in tightly with a suit of armor, and waited for the guard to pass. There had been many changes since her accident. The Duelist Kingdom Tournament had begun. Everyone had become so busy with everything, they almost seemed to forget about her existence altogether. She remained unsupervised. Her father had warned her, and then left her to her own devises. She was wholly unwatched. Well, at least as much as she had been before. Did her father really think she would do _nothing?_ Now that she knew so much? Knowledge was power. He had always told her that. And now she knew why. After all, who could have more knowledge than one who owned the Millennium Eye?

A guard walked past her. She held her breath. She rested a hand on her belly as her entire torso throbbed. She exhaled as he rounded the corner. Easing back past the suit of armor, she looked to the door which the guard had just past. Mokuba Kaiba's door. She bit down on her lip. Maybe she couldn't do it. Maybe…

She stepped out into the hallway, walked in front of the door and, as gingerly as she could, crouched in front of it. The keyhole. She tried to breathe steadily. She could not believe that she was doing this.

…_Believe…_

Her eyes slid shut and, for a moment, all she could hear was her own pulse thumping in her ears. Deftly, she pulled free the two hairpins that held her hair. As her hair cascaded about her, her nimble fingers, almost mechanically, straightened the pins.

"_Remember,"_ whispered a voice in her ear that she did not know from this lifetime. _"You've got to work fast, or else the shop keeper will get back before you've finished. Then that pretty white pelt of yours will be all black and blue."_

_Kisara sighed, and gave a vexed look to the many examples of locks, knots, and hand-held booby traps strewn across the cave floor before her. She couldn't even imagine where he had gotten all of these. The next moment she was distracted by his fingers running through her hair. She stiffened. She still couldn't get used to the feeling of human touch. Not the kind one._

"_Now, try again. You'll be the best thief this side of the Nile, by the time I'm done with you."_

_Her mouth twitched into a smile, and looked to him. "And this is your idea of showing a girl a good time?"_

_A harsh, crooked smirk knifed across his face. It almost looked like a second scar, the first one still raw and ugly across his right eye, where it had been recently gashed. "Well, I could think of some other things…" he breathed, leaning in to her and-_

_Click. The lock sprung free. She smiled. _

Click. The lock sprung free. She smiled.

Hardly daring to believe it, and trying her best to stem the rest of the memories associated with the scar-faced boy so that she might focus on the matter at hand, Kisara used the door handle to pull herself upright again, pocketed the now useless hairpins, and opened the door.

They're eyes met, and caution and gentle mistrust shone from both. The boy was sitting on his bed. He opened his mouth as if to speak, when Kisara put one thin finger to her lips, to indicate silence. She quickly took the final steps into the room, shutting the door behind her. For a moment, they merely examined each other, as two animals would, both meeting each other on uncertain terrain. And Mokuba Kaiba was just as interesting to Kisara Pegasus as she was to him.

He was small, even for an eleven year old. Yet there seemed to be a sense of pride about him that would not have been there from birth, but cultivated with some years of wealth. His hair was a tattered mess. Whoever it was that kept him fed and watered here clearly did not bother to keep him groomed. And his eyes were emerald green and all the more stark because of the raven hair. Whichever parent his brother looked like, the younger looked like the other. There was nothing of Seto Kaiba in Mokuba. Though… who was she to say?

"Who are you?" he asked, though quietly, interrupting her thoughts. Quiet… but venomous.

She swallowed, resting her weight on the door handle. She had twenty minutes before the next guard walked by. She needed to be done with this and well away from here by then. She couldn't risk discovery. "You know who I-"

"Of course," Mokuba Kaiba cut in, getting up and folding his arms. "What do you want, Ms. Pegasus?"

Were the situation not so dire, his attempt at being intimidating would have been almost humorous. If the situation were not so dire. And if it did not partly work. Perhaps he was more like his brother than she realized. Her stomach turned. She needed to keep this simple.

"I'm here to help you escape," she said. With her free hand she reached into her pocket and pulled out two slips of paper. "I've been watching the guards. These are the exact times that they walk past your door, and bring you your meals. I recommend getting out of here right after the 4:30 guard passes your door, and before the 5:00 one brings you dinner. Also, a map of the island. It's more treacherous than you'd imagine, and speed will be absolutely vital." She offered him the papers.

His eyes narrowed. "…Why?"

Why indeed… Her father's words echoed in her head. _"Forget. And think. Why would you want to remember? To help him? For him, when his brother did this to you?"_ But then, this wasn't about him, was it? No. It was about her.

"Your brother did me a favor once. Or, at least, he thought he did. And I, at the time, promised to return it. The chance never arose… until now."

Another moment of silence. Finally, Mokuba unfolded his arms, walked across the room, and took the papers from her hand.

"At 4:31, strip your bed, tie the sheets into a rope, fasten it to your bed, and use it to clamber out the window. They'll know soon enough, so don't waste any time. After that, make your way to the dock. There shouldn't be too many guards there. After all, they'll be trying to prevent disqualified duelists from staying on the island. Not from anyone getting off it. Not at first. Move quickly. Understand?"

Mokuba looked from the piece of paper, to her. "Thank you, Ms. Pegasus."

She smiled wryly. "Call me Kisara, please."

"Kisara…" he said thoughtfully. She nodded, and turned to leave. "What happened to you?" She looked back to see his eyes on her hand, on the door handle, still taking most of her weight.

Her smile waivered a little. "A little accident."

"Ah." Again, she turned to leave. "Did you sleep with my brother?" Everything inside her froze. She stared into the door. What a thing to ask at eleven. "I'm sorry to sound rude," he continued, and she could actually hear the genuine apology and confusion in his voice, "but I can't imagine any other reason some girl would just do this for me."

Her mouth twitched in its smile. _Some girl. Naturally._ Kisara turned back to look at Mokuba, "Because that is the context in which he knows most girls?"

Mokuba blinked, and his resolve seemed to waver. Maybe it was the way she was looking at him. As if… as if… Well, she didn't know what, did she? She couldn't see her own face.

"You didn't answer my question," he said, looking to the floor.

"Nor you mine," she responded calmly.

A pause. He looked up. "Yes." He shrugged "Generally."

Discomfort shot through her side, and she gingerly rested her hand across her waist. She knew now there was no disguise for the look of pain on her face as she stared into Mokuba's. "No." She turned to door handle, and walked the door. "Not insofar as I can remember," she murmured under her breathe. The door locked behind her.

…

Pegasus laughed openly, flipping through the pages of his Funny Bunny comic, at the same time methodically swirling his wine. "Where do these guys get all their ideas?" he cooed. He flipped to another page, and took another sip, before breaking into fresh laughter.

…He had forgotten what it was like to watch people, not being sure what they'd do. She really was such a fascinating girl. It had been a difficult decision, really. When Kisara had tumbled down all those stairs, he had been presented with a choice. He could have sent her to the mainland, and out of the way. …Or he could keep her here. To send her to the LA or New York would have sent the paparazzi into a frenzy, and it wouldn't be the sort of attention that he wanted. He didn't need any personal information leaking out right now, not when everyone's eyes were so conveniently fixed on his Tournament.

However, keeping her here would mean risking the danger that she would… _interfere._ He knew Kisara. Knew her much better than she knew herself – which was hardly a wonder. After all, the girl was only fifteen years old. _Ah, and yet, so much more…_ Pegasus had to ask himself the question: did he think that her interference could make a difference?

"Er…" Croquet cleared his throat behind him, "Master Pegasus? A thousand pardons, sir."

Pegasus took the wine from his lips, genuinely annoyed to be interrupted in his trail of thought. He inhailed deeply, and closed his eye for a moment. "Gorgonzola cheese and the world's finest wine," he mused. "Along with a copy of my favorite comic book," he said, rattling off the spread on the table in front of him as he sat in the great dining hall. He opened his eye. "Times like these are more precarious to me than any other. _You do realize that, don't you?" _

He rather sensed than saw Croquet flinch behind him. Good.

"But… the prisoner has escaped."

Pegasus quirked an eyebrow, suddenly fascinated by the shade of red in his wine. "Which one?" he asked, almost disinterestedly. Or was it melodramatic to call Kisara a prisoner?

Croquet was silent for a moment. Obviously the implication of what Pegasus had said was not lost on him. "The boy we imprisoned in the north tower," he clarified. "…I have our men searching the island, but… so far there's no sign of him."

"Oooh," Pegasus exclaimed, as though in mock shock. "I guess he didn't_ appreciate _my hospitality," he pouted. "Well no matter. I'm sure I know_ exactly_ where our little escapee is heading." He languidly pulled out a remote control from his pocket, and directed it at the ceiling. "He'll seek out Yugi." He cleared his throat. "Computer," he commanded, "request data on the status of the Duel Monster's Tournament." A screen slowly slid out from the center of the ceiling.

The computer began rattling off data, and as Pegasus listened with one ear, he also allowed his mind to wander. So… the younger Kaiba-boy had escaped. It was hardly surprising, considering the tenacity of his older brother. Still… while the escapee might have always been resolved on leaving the famous Pegasus hospitality, he would not have been able to avoid Croquet's detection for this long without some help…

Maximillion Pegasus smirked. _Really,_ _Kisara… how silly…_

Yugi, the computer reported, was of course doing well.

"Wonderful," he said, leaving his musings once again. "I expected no less. He is determined to work his way up in the standings to gain entry into my castle." Suddenly, quite suddenly, Pegasus's face contorted. Gone was the playful nature – even the sinister one. For an instant, the man looked quite mad. "…Which is exactly what I want little Yugi to do."

Just as suddenly, his face cleared. "We'll just keep our spy cams trained on our star duelist. Sooner or later the little runaway prisoner will confront Yugi… for reasons of his own." _That's right, little Kisara. You can try to save them. You can try to save them all. But you can hardly save them from their own stupidity, can you? It's difficult, isn't it? Being surrounded by those who are so stupid?_

"Very wise, sir." Croquet chorused behind him. So stupid.

"Actually, the boy's escape plays right into my plans," Pegasus called after as Croquet made to leave, insisting to inform his bodyguard of just how entirely he had thought things through. "…And I do have such special plans in store for Yugi today. Plans I that I hope he'll find as entertaining as I do." And as for Kiasra… Well, she really was her own worst enemy. Intelligent, but what good was that when coupled with the sort of impulsive nature that she had? And she looked so deceptively _cautious_ too. _That great heart will be the death of you, girl._ Pegasus burst into fresh laughter.

…

"Running Identification Verification Protocol. Please state your name," a computerized voice recognition system activated as he entered the room.

"Seto Kaiba." The giant blue screen in front of him seemed to take all the color out of the room. Despite the exhaustion, he refused to relax in the chair that he'd rammed himself into only moments before. …He hadn't slept in days.

The effort it had taken to break onto his own property had been ridiculous. Guards that weren't his at the front gate. The ten foot wall which he'd had to scramble… and that was after climbing up that entire cliff face, with bleeding hand and suitcase no less. Still on from there… into the heart of his property… to the library beneath his mansion. Through the hidden door behind a bookcase which he'd installed years ago.

And now here he was. Headphones and microphone in place. He watched as the red bar coursed across the computer screen….

_Verified. _

"I thought I'd seen it all. But having to break into your own house?" Now that she was sure who he was, the cheekiness of his personal computer returned to full force. Kaiba pinched the rim on his nose.

"…It's too long a story for right now."

"Too long a story?!" Her voice grated on his already shredded nerves. "Well maybe _I'm_ not in such a talkative mood myself right now!"

"I'd find that hard to believe," he said wearily, letting his head lull back in the seat momentarily, and closing his eyes, waiting for her to load her programs. He'd designed her character on Mokuba's behest. So that the boy could have someone he could always talk to when Seto was away on business.

Kaiba almost regretted it now.

"Such a smart guy," she answered sarcastically. Color splashed through his closed eyelids, and he opened them. She was projecting an image of Kaiba Corp. "While you were off _gallivanting,_ a hostile takeover of Kaiba Corporation has begun!"

_Gallivanting… really._ Kaiba narrowed his eyes, and straightening in his seat, "I know," he said darkly.

An island now appeared on the screen, with a small image of its owner in the right-hand upper corner. "At the same time Maximillion Pegasus kicked off his Duel Monsters Championship at the Duelist Kingdome." Yes. He had been supposed to compete in that tournament… before his defeat at Yugi's hands. The computer continued. "If Yugi Mouto can be defeated by Pegasus or a competitor that represents him, then the new Kaiba Corperation Board has promised him control of the company!"

Kaiba's fingers clutched at the arms of his chair. Well, they had been having_ quite _the party since he'd been away. "He won't win," he said aloud. "Yugi is unbeatable. His deck has Exodia." He could still feel the scorching heat from that last attack that Yugi had launched upon him… destroying all three of his Blue-Eyes White Dragons. He grimaced, despite himself.

"Yeah, well… sometime after _you _lost to Yugi,_ he_ lost Exodia," the computer answered flatly.

Kaiba's parted in surprise and his blood ran cold. "No way…"

"When it rains it _pours._ Pegasus _knows _all about the Corporation bylaws that requite a living Kaiba heir to make any changes legal." Kaiba stared at the screen, his mouth agape, as the computer displayed photographs of Pegasus and of his little brother next to each other. His heart twinged within his chest at the sight Mokuba's picture. And when he thought of their last parting…

He'd already know all of this about the bylaws… but to hear the conformation... She went on. "Mokuba's his prisoner. And with you out of the way, it's likely Pegasus will exert _all kinds_ of pressure to make your brother do what he wants. One way, _or another."_ He closed his eyes again. He needed to stay calm. He needed to subdue the murderous intent welling inside of him. For now. Later... later he would find Pegasus. And he would kill him. That was the only conclusion that this horrific episode in their lives could meet. He would drag him down to hell himself, _but he – would – kill – him._ "So now you know," the computer concluded. "What are we gonna do!?"

Kaiba opened his eyes, and remained silent, staring at the screen, thinking. Finally, when he did speak, it was in a low and deadly tremor which melded together with the humming of the machines about him. "They'll keep my brother safe, at least until the takeover's complete. So I've got to make sure Pegasus doesn't defeat Yugi in a duel. No matter what." It was so strange… to hear those words coming out of his own mouth. But it was what had to be done.

He slammed his fist down on the keyboard infront of him.

"I'm not gonna give up Kaiba Corporation without a real fight." He'd worked too hard. Too long. "It's takeover time…" he whispered, "by _me. _We're going to hack right into Pegasus's computer main frame." He unclenched his fists, and set his spiderlike fingers on the keys. "Next stop, _Duelist Kingdome."_

…

Mokuba had not escaped. He had not headed for the boats as she had told him to. Instead, he had confronted Yugi, whom he believed was responsible for all of the Kaibas' current misfortunes, and had challenged him to a duel. He had then been recaptured by Kemo, and now Yugi was facing a challenger of Kemo's choice for the chance to reclaim Mokuba's freedom.

…_When had everything gone so wrong? _

Kisara watched the duel from the Surveillance Room, where fifty different screens blinked at her, showing her different views of the island. But she had interest in only one screen: the one which showed her Mokuba Kaiba, Yugi Mutou, and his opponent to be. So, there she stood in the darkness, her eyes transfixed, her already colorless form now bathed in the ghoulish light of fifty blue blinking screens.

And Yugi's opponent was… _the ghost of Seto Kaiba?_

Kisara gripped at the brace around herself, and leaned more heavily on the cane. She had finally given into the pain, and taken one of canes that had been left tilted against a wall in the library. It was an antique. There was quite a collection in there. No one had given her one of her own. No one seemed too eager that she should be able to move about. Kisara was sure that her father knew that it had been she who had granted Mokuba his freedom, as short lived as it had been. She also knew that he did not care. That considered her no more than he would have a fly on the wall. Kisara neglected the office chairs lined along the screens, unable to uproot herself from the place she'd taken alone in that room. Unable to tare her eyes from what she was seeing.

_No… couldn't be the ghost of Seto Kaiba… Kaiba couldn't be… dead. Could he?_ From the little that she'd awakened in the recesses of her own mind, the Millennium Items were capable of all manner of wonders. All manner of horrors. Murder. Resurrection. For a Millennium Item, it might very well be child's play. She didn't know. She couldn't be sure. Her bone-thin fingers tightened on the cane so harshly that, had there been any color in Kisara's hand, it would have fled it now.

"It's a fact," Kemo's voice cracked into the silence of the otherwise empty Surveillance Room. Kisara had muted all other serves. "Two witnesses saw him fall to his doom."

She felt sick. Finally, and only because so violent a wave went through her, Kisara closed her eyes, blocking out the image. First her father's refusal to give her proper medical attention, leaving her practically immobile, then Mokuba's kidnapping, and now this. The supposed "fall" of Seto Kaiba. She was not an idiot. And she could not whitewash fact. Her father… the father she had come to love so dearly… had gone from ruthless to his daughter, to a kidnapper of children, to a dealer in assassins. Maximillion Pegasus was a murderer.

She opened her eyes again, and again fixed them on what, had she known so much less, would have appeared as little more than a children's card game. A harmless duel. One of many, in fact. She swallowed. Kisara tried to tell herself that the reason for the violence of her own reaction was only upon learning who her father truly was. She would have reacted the same way at the death of any man. After all… Seto Kaiba was nothing to her now. Had been nothing to her for years. And the pain that she now suffered because of what he'd done to that one card- of course she had no feelings left for him. It was only for the loss of a father that she grieved. Not for… not because he was…

_He is not dead._ The thought came both unbidden and demanding to her senses. _This… it isn't him, standing there. It couldn't be-_

And then the man opposing Yugi summoned the Blue-Eyes White Dragon.

…

Kaiba smirked, his face dyed blue with the screen before him, a thousand numbers and codes reflected in his eyes. Breaking into Pegasus's computers and information on the Duelist Kingdome Championship had been easy. However, the old man did have_ some_ security. And it was all centered around Yugi Mouto's dueling information. It was almost quaint. Or at least, it would have been quaint, if alongside the codes flashing before his eyes Kaiba wasn't also simultaneously envisioning all the different ways to disembowel the man. "Fine by me," he whispered when his computer system hit the firewall. "Go ahead Pegasus. Give it your best shot," a thin sneer cut his face. "There isn't a computer system on the planet that I can't break into." Here, the creator of Duel Monster's had met his match.

Then, it was as though Seto Kaiba truly had died to the world. Fresh and blood turned to date chips and information. Even the computer couldn't fully keep up. Just so, he worked in silence. Dried blood cracked on his hand as he threw his fingers across the keyboards. "So, spill it already. How the hell are we going to use Industrial Illusions' own satellite to bring down their computer?"

He chanced a glance back up to the screen, blinking, sheets and sheets of data funneling though though his mind. "By bringing down the satellite itself," he said as though he was describing how he was going to shift gears in a car rather than how he was planning to bring a massive piece of machinery out of the earth's orbit and down on an exact and particular spot of the globe.

_And down it came. _

Right down on the computer mainframe of Industrial Illusions in California. In a fiery blast. Kaiba sneer curled still further as he watched all of the screens which he'd hacked though Pegasus's satellite cop out – entirely destroyed. He almost wished that he could have seen the blast in person. No matter. It was sure to make the news by tomorrow. He'd find a recording later. "You should have known better than to fuck with me, Pegasus," he growled. "I've already dethroned one head of a company."

…

Croquet walked into the computer surveillance room. "Ms Kisara. Are… Are you alright?"

Kisar flinched violently at his entrance. She looked at him, as though he'd burned her. He, who had once been her mentor, and her dearest companion. He'd taught her how to fly the helicopters here on the island. Had stayed up with her watching whatever films she liked on the nights that her father was away. He had been the childhood friend she'd never had.

And now he was as much a kidnapper as her father, and she did not know where to turn. "Excuse me, Croquet," she said quietly, and her cane clanked loudly against the tile floor as she made to move past him and out of the room.

"Ms Kisara, I…."

She met his eyes. Yes, she could _just_ see his eyes though those sunglasses he always wore. They were close enough together now, standing in the doorway of the room, that she could look right into them. Whatever he had been about to say died on his lips.

"That's not him!" Mokuba's voice resounded in the silence, crackling though the speakers. So desperate. So broken. It filled the space between her and Croquet. "Yugi, you know my brother! Everybody thinks he's a bad guy, but he's _not mean like this!_ He's my best friend in the whole world. That _thing's _not him!" He was choking through tears. "You've just got to believe me!"

She broke the eye contact, and continued from the room. Believe Mokuba? Oh. She wanted to. She wanted to believe that Seto Kaiba had not been 'a bad guy.' _Was _not a bad guy. And was not the man whom Yugi Mutou was now facing.

Kisara wanted to believe that he was just the same as she was. That they, neither of them, had ever really changed. That she understood why he did what he did.

That he was alive.

She was already a ways down the hall when she heard the last traces of the duel before Croquet turned off the audio in the room. "There are only three Blue-Eyes White Dragon Cards in the world," the ghost of Seto Kaiba said, "and they're all in my deck. You'r grandpa had the fourth, but I ripped it up." Kisara stopped in the middle of the hall, and closed her eyes. _So it was true… _It had been one thing to know… to guess… and yet such a different thing to hear the conformation. "…But how could I possibly know that if I'm not really Seto Kaiba?" The sound went dead. Her lips parted. She swallowed. And walked on. She had no answer.

…

"Now downloading Duel Data. You were right. Yugi Mouto is in _this_ duel."

Finally. Progress. Kaiba leaned back in his seat, shaking out his hands to keep them from cramping after the momentous amount of typing he'd been doing. "Can you show it to me on screen?"

"My pleasure," the computer answered with satisfaction, loading a new image. "I think the thing you'll find _most_ interesting is the name of Yugi's opponent." The loading proses was complete. Kaiba could now see a simulation of the duel in progress, along with all of the moves already made and the current statuses of both players. And there, plain as day, was his name being displayed on the computer screen.

His fingers clamped back into fists."What?!" He was on his feet again. "Is this your idea of a joke?!"

"I _never _joke," the computer answered sniffily. An ironic statement, but a true one. "Sensors indicate that the opponent opposite Yugi is registered as _Seto Kaiba._ And he's using _your deck."_

_Of course._ Kaiba narrowed his eyes. "Pegasus must have taken my deck." His brain was once again kicked into overdrive. He had to think of something. Anything "…But without… Exodia… Yugi can't win," he said slowly. "He has no other cards left in his deck that can defeat the Blue-Eyes White Dragon. Let alone the _two_ of them that his opponent can still draw." It was mad. Here, on the screen before him, Kaiba had the opportunity to sit back and watch as his deck and his strategies tore Yugi apart. Something he'd dreamed of from the day he'd lost to him till this day.

And he could not let it happen.

"_Well then,_ I hope you have a plan," the computer broke him from his musings matter-of-factly.

He started at the screen a moment longer. _"Yes,"_ he said, his plan now fully formed within his mind. "But we've got to work fast. Yugi'll lose on the next attack from the Blue-Eyes… unless we decrease its power from here."

"Can we do that?" The computer actually sounded impressed.

"Oh yeah. Upload a virus into that monster's hollow computer. That dragon is about to get sick. _Real sick."_ The words caught in his chest, like a punch. What was he saying? What was he doing? _What if… _The memory from only a year ago suddenly sparked within his mind. …Just one little year._ Those blue eyes, that shawl that was much too big for her hanging off her shoulders… that constant stare… _And again,_ those eyes… timeless… _

He snapped out of it. Now of all times he chose to be ridiculous?! He grated his teeth against each other.

"Standing by…." A new screen appeared, now with the transparent outline of the Blue-Eyes White Dragon displayed on it, alongside its lifepoints: 3000. "But shouldn't we first wait to see Yugi's next move?" the computer offered.

"We can't afford to risk Yugi losing the duel," Kaiba practically spat out. He was doing this. And he was doing it now. And no nonsense regarding_… that girl…_ was going to get in his way. He would prove that – again, and again and again – if he had to. Even if the only one he was proving it to was himself. He would not relent. His lip curled. _"Upload."_

"Viral injection underway," the computer concluded. The clear silhouette of the Blue-Eyes on the screen began to ting a sickening shade of _pink._

…

The cane clattered to the floor. Kisara stumbled… and then slammed against the wall of the hallway down which she'd been walking. Her hand clamped over her mouth, contorted as it was in a silent scream. Her eyes went wide.

And through the pain, the unendurable fire that was now burning through her veins – she could have laughed.

He was alive. And he was doing something to the Blue-Eyes White Dragon. And the reason that she was affected was because it was_ he_ who was doing it. Kisara had felt horror when the _imposter _Kaiba had summoned the beast to the field. She had felt sick. But this… this was reality. This was… real poison. She coughed out a laugh, pulling her hand away from her mouth to grip to the woodwork on the wall. A thin, determined smile coursed across her face.

"Welcome back to the living then, Seto Kaiba," she gasped into the silence, her entire form trembling. Though, how long she would be here herself now suddenly seemed very much up to debate.

…

"I wish Yugi had waiting a few more seconds before moving," alarm was thick in Kaiba's voice as his fingers skidded across the keyboard, the sound of typing becoming more and more like that of a waterfall, endless and unrelenting. "Isn't there anything you can do to get that computer virus uploaded _faster?"_

"We're already half way there. This is as fast as it goes!" The number was rising steadily, even as the computer spoke. "Viral implant now at 60%. But it doesn't seem to be working! The Blue-Eyes White Dragon is still showing no signs of weakness."

Kaiba starred frantically from screen to screen. "Something is wrong."

…

…_Very wrong. _

She'd slid down the side of the wall, and now sat on the hall carpet, breathing heavily. Kisara, her fingers shaking, pushed the buttons open on the front of her blouse, exposing the brace beneath it. There, though the mesh and the fabric, the sash along which the raw wound she bore… was glowing. _"Gugh," _she inhaled sharply, her fingers twitching involuntarily. Her head reeled, and she let it thump back against the wall, her eyes blinking at nothing.

Her vision swam. Now she was looking upon a playing field. And there, across the field from her… was the duelist, Yugi Mutou. And piercing though from between her scales… those very same beams of light. And that selfsame _pain._ She roared. She was not going to let this conquer her! She was not going to let this bring her down. Did he think she was just a tool? A meaningless object, to be torn and poisoned at his convenience. Was be truly so awful? Well, she would not let him. She would beat this _virus_ – and she knew she could.

Mokuba's voice swam into focus. _"Everybody thinks he's a bad guy, but he's not mean like this! He's my best friend in the whole world." _

Again she was staring at the ornate ceiling of the hallway in the Pegasus castle. And smiled_. So that was it…_ She then realized something which she'd though she had figured out a long time ago. But, clearly, the message had not sunk in deep enough. Again her vision swam.

Kisara was almost blinded by the light shining though her own scales on the duel arena. "Attack!" She heard the command, and clamped her great jaw down upon itself. _No,_ she growled to herself. …_I don't think I will._ "What are you waiting for?! Attack!"

_No!_ She squeezed her eyes shut, resisting the command with every fiber in her being, even as she could feel the heat of the lightening welling up within her throat. Having realized what she had in that previous moment… she had to buy him time.

…

"The virus is taking effect," the computer announced. "Blue-Eyes White Dragon's attach power is beginning to drop!"

"But it's still too strong," Kaiba answered, his eyes transfixed on the screen as the poison seeped through his beloved dragon. His most treasured card. "It has to get _weaker."_ It was the fear that the dragon would not weaken that was coursing through his body. He knew that. It was the fear that his plan would not work.

It had nothing to do with the fear of what would happen if it did.

"Attack power is holding at 2000."

Kaiba's eyes widened. "But this should have worked…"

…

What Kisara had realized in that moment… was that none of this was about her. None of it. And just so, it shouldn't have been. A man had almost been murdered. A child had been kidnapped. The life of an entire family was in danger. And she… armed with the memories which she had only recently rediscovered… had dared to make it all about her. _You really are such a weak, thoughtless little girl, aren't you? _She mused. He had never cared about her in this lifetime. She hardly knew if he'd cared about her in the last. She could only remember so much.

However, even if it was only a silly little crush… even if it was not the _grand romance_ that little girls dreamed about… she had always cared about him. She had always wanted him to be happy… And _this…_ this was how she could accomplish that.

Somewhere, far across the grounds of Duelist Kingdome, the front teeth of the Blue-Eyes White Dragon shattered as a White Lightening Attack smashed its way through the beast's jaw, determined to make its mark.

The screen flashed before Kaiba's eyes. "The Blue-Eyes White Dragon is launching its attack."

"No!" Kaiba watched in horror as the simulation of the attack played out on the screen. He couldn't lose. Yugi couldn't lose. If Yugi lost this duel then he, Kaiba… lost everything… He might never see his little brother again… He slammed his hands down on the keyboard and in, the silence of the room, screamed out, _"YUGI."_

Yugi's eyes widened with awe in the face of the oncoming attack. _"Kaiba?"_ he whispered in awe.

Again the voice of Seto Kaiba resounded in his mind _"Yugi!"_

The Millennium Symbol, a golden eye, flashed into appearance on Yugi's forehead; for he too was a wielder of a Millennium Item. The Millennium Puzzle. The boy with multicolored hair straightened up to face the attack full on. "Kaiba," he answered boldly.

The white hot lightening billowed around the duelist… and vanished.

_And still at the end, I made it all about myself,_ she mused with a smile, smothering the last of the weakened power within herself. Her head lulled. Her breath stilled.

…

"The Blue-Eyes White Dragon is destroyed. But the virus was not responsible."

Kaiba stared at the now vacant slot where the Blue-Eyes had been registered just moments before. "Then how? Did Yugi Mutou somehow do this?" _Or… what if it wasn't Yugi… what it if it was… someone else. Someone-_

"How could he?" the computer responded flatly. "It is _your_ deck."

Kiaba's breath caught in his throat. He didn't know how to feel. His hands were trembling. He opened his mouth to form words, and nothing came. He swallowed. "…It's… _the heart of the cards," _he finally said. "Yugi was right." Kaiba had no idea what the meaning was of what he had just said. Or if it meant anything. But, caught up in the moment of abject relief and exhaustion, he believed it.

Then, a beeping resonated behind him. Someone was trying to hack into the room. Pegasus's men had found him. Seto Kaiba's work here was done. It was time to go.

…

"Hmm…" Pegasus mused. "It appears that young Yugi's nemesis, the _real_ Seto Kaiba, has come to his rescue. … I must admit that this little development is one twist that even I did not foresee."

Croquet straightened up, and put a finger to the earpiece he was carrying. Then, after a moment's silence, he swallowed. Pegasus knew what he was going to say before the man even turned to lean in. "I have some bad news sir. The real Kaiba has eluded us once again. You were right. He was using a terminal in the Kaiba mansion to access the Industrial Illusions main frame." He paused for a moment. "…If I thought he was alive, I would have beefed up security," he added, trying to shift the blame somewhat.

"That's two escapes, Croquet. Must I lock you away, _again?"_ Pegasus responded quietly. Deadly, chilling silence. "Get me Kemo on the radio. It's time for him to get out of there with the brat while he still can."

…

The duel was almost over. Yugi chuckled. Kaiba was alive. And, with his backing, Yugi knew that nothing was impossible. "It's time to finish this duel," he called across the arena at the imposter. With that, he pulled forth a card. The decisive card. "…with _Reborn the Monster!"_

The arena glittered, and a full, powerful roar echoed across the forest as a dragon at the peak of its prime reared its head upon the scene. Far away, in the castle, Kisara's fingers twitched, she coughed, and a breath of air heaved back through her lungs. Blue eyes cracked open once again, the spark of life returned.

…

**Well, here it is at least. The update. I really hope it was worth the wait, and that I have still managed to remain true to the character of Kisara. I'd be very grateful for any opinions and critique you'd like to give me on the story thus far. Is it too much like that actual series? Does giving the Seto&Kisara side of things make it interesting enough? Is it exciting for you? **

**Please let me know, and Review. **


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